But troubling dreams began to invade his sleep: a Vale shrouded deep in drifted snow, winterkilled unicorns lying frozen, others starving. He saw a night-dark stallion, stark-eyed and fanatical, haranguing the cowed, exhausted herd, a crescent-shaped smear of white mud marking his brow. Equally fervent companions surrounded him, their fellows moving in a pack through the crowd: harassing and bullying, demanding answers. “Where is she, the pied wych? Did you help her to escape?”
About whom were they speaking? The dreaming unicorn could not begin to guess. All he saw seemed familiar somehow—yet memory slipped away from him the moment he woke.
Soon he no longer slept the nights through. Restless, unable to recall what frightening images had tangled through his sleeping brain only moments before, he often remained awake the balance of the night, reluctant to return to the unremembered country of his dreams. Mornings and afternoons, he dozed. Ryhenna, though clearly distressed, seemed hesitant to disturb him. As spring approached, his reveries grew more vivid. Often now he remembered snatches: before him in dreams, the moonbrowed stallion reared.
“I am your Firebringer!” he shouted. “Come spring, we must find and slay the pied wych who seduced my son. Only thus may we gain Alma’s blessing for our war against the gryphons!”
The decimated ranks of unicorns groaned. Half looked as though they would not survive till spring—much less make war. Appalled, the dreamer recoiled. If only these dying unicorns had possessed fire, he realized, they could at least have combatted the cold!
Though the fearful images still faded rapidly upon waking, their foreboding lingered. By night, Tai-shan grew increasingly restive, and soon became too restless to doze the day away. Gripped by a vague yet mounting anxiety, he paced his stall for hours, ignoring queries from Ryhenna, whose concern now clearly verged upon alarm. Then, very near the start of spring, a vision came to him: he saw the unicorns’ mad ruler ramping before the starving herd.
“By Alma’s divine will, I command you—speak! Who among you aided the wych?”
His bullies nipped and harried the silent, sullen crowd. The black unicorn stamped, snorting. Impatiently, he reared—and suddenly his torso began to flatten, shrink. His lower limbs rapidly thickened and changed. For an instant, he stood with the body of a two-foot, moon-blaze white upon the breast, his hornless unicorn’s head glaring wildly, teeth bared, hot breath smoking in the cold. Then the head, too, abruptly altered and shrank, becoming the dark-bearded face of the chon.
The bullying pack had all sprouted violet plumes from their brows. In another moment, they, too, had transformed into two-foots. The unicorns before them grew bonier, coats colorless drab, manes thinned to bristles, horns broken and falling away—until they had assumed the shape of flatbrowed, beardless daya, flinching beneath the bite of the purple-plumes’ flails. The dreamer tried to cry out, “Apnor, ‘pnor!” Enough, enough! in the two-foots’ tongue—but coils of vine were strangling his voice.
Without warning, two-foots and daya melted from view. The dreamer found himself high on a peak overlooking the Vale. A great storm brewed overhead, black thunderheads churning and roiling. Merciless strokes of lightning flashed like the hooves of an angry god. Before their fury, tiny figures fled—but whether unicorns or hornless daya, the dreaming stallion could not say.
The stormclouds swept on, topping the snow-bound crags bordering the Vale and gusting out over the wild southeast hills. Winter snows melted, clearing a frozen pass through the crags. Suddenly, it was spring. Still spilling torrential rains, the storm clouds battered the wilderness, loosing mudslides and flash floods.
Wolves coursed the hinterlands, catching hares, foxes, ptarmigan, deer—even hapless pans foraging the verges of their Woods. The dreamer twitched. The dream wolves shifted, turned into bony haunts hunting down some unseen quarry, crying out above the stormwind in long wailing harks that sounded more like the belling of hounds than the voices of unicorns:
“Where is she hiding? Where can she be? We must track her down at the king’s command!”
Still the dreamer had no notion about whom they spoke. On a cliffside above, watching as they pounded by, stood a roan da mare. The moon lay like a pool of silver at her feet. She bent to sip from it, and her color darkened, intensified to true cherry mallow. A black horn thrust like a skewer from her brow. Lifting her head, she faced the dreamer, gazing at him with her black-green eyes.
“Little did my former masters guess,” she said, “that the fare whereby they sought to tame thee would only open thy dreams to my warnings at last. Behold.”
The red mare vanished into the rain. Beside where she had stood, the perfect disk of the moon lay flat upon the ground. It tipped upright, balanced erect on its edge and became a mare. Mottled like the moon, her color deepened from ash and silver to black and rose. Heavy in foal, her sides hugely swollen, she trotted restlessly, her labor pains begun.
Below her, the circling haunts raised their muzzles, turned. Baying and whinnying, bones rattling like hail, they bounded across the meadow toward her. Alarmed, the dreamer thrashed, struggling to vault down from his mountain fastness and stand between the bloodthirsty haunts and this unknown mare. But walls of timber sprang up around him; vines suddenly ensnared him.
“Where is the midwife?” the dark unicorn shouted.
With a mighty effort, he burst the vines and vaulted the wall, clipping one hind pastern painfully against its rough upper edge. Plunging down the mountain’s side, he found himself running with ghostlike slowness, floating almost, as though he were swimming. Then he realized he was swimming: stormrains had risen in a furious floodtide. An ocean now parted him from the pied moon mare.
“Too soon,” she moaned, gasping, unmistakably in travail. “Before my time…”
“Summon the midwife!” he cried out again. The pied mare snorted hoarsely, in grave distress. The red one could have aided her—but was nowhere to be seen. Frantically, the dreamer struggled across the endless watery gulf. In the distance before him, the moon mare shuddered, collapsing to her knees. Bounding up the sheer cliffside, her skeletal pursuers closed around her.
“The time of the Mare of the World betides!” the dark unicorn thundered—and wrenched awake as one hoof struck the near wall of his wooden stall with a report like a thundercrack.
The warm enclosure around him was all dimness and shadow. Little white tongues of fire within the lampshells by the distant egress burned low, fizzing in the silent air. Tai-shan struggled to his feet, heart racing, the clear memory of his dream hurtling through him still. Who were the figures he had seen there? He knew them all somehow—though he could no more recall who and what they were to him than he could recount his own true name. Ryhenna, shaken from sleep, peered at him across the darkness from her own stall.
“Moonbrow!” she exclaimed. “My lord, what aileth thee?”
“I must get home!” he cried, staring about him.
He scarcely recognized his present surroundings, the vision still coursing through his mind. The dream of that faraway Vale and the unknown mare seemed so vivid, so real, it was the chon’s comfortable stable that felt unfamiliar—unnatural—to him now. Surely no unicorn was ever meant to be housed in such a place: fed, groomed, and tended by sorcerous two-foots; head compassed in silver; mind, will, and energy sapped by luxury.
Across from him, the coppery mare murmured, “Home? My lord, this is thy home!”
Tai-shan shook his head. The adornment slapped against his muzzle, jingling.
“It isn’t,” he answered. “My home lies far away from here. It is a great Vale, I think, nearly surrounded by woods. I must find it! My people are unicorns, not daya. I have stayed too long.”
Ryhenna gasped. “Nay, my lord,” she protested. “thou must remain! Thy presence among us is the will of Dai’chon.”
The dark unicorn stopped short. That baffling word again. “Dai’chon,” he muttered, cocking his head. “What is this Dai’chon of which you speak?”
&nb
sp; Ryhenna gazed at him blankly a moment, uncomprehending, then gave a nervous nicker. “Dai’chon is the one true god, of course! Master of the celestial fire, all-knowing and all-powerful—it was he that made our keepers and gave them dominion over daya and all the world. Why didst thou reck the chon keepeth this vast stable? We bluebloods here are sacred to Dai’chon.”
The dark unicorn stared at her. “The two-foot’s god—‘Dai’chon’ is a name?”
Ryhenna nodded. The dark unicorn’s mind buzzed. Until this moment, he had thought it merely another indecipherable word.
“Dai’chon…,” he mused, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Dai’chon had been the first word the daïcha had ever spoken to him. “It sounds very close to the name the daïcha gave me—Tai-shan.” The dark unicorn shifted, suddenly remembering: “That morning in the square—half the crowd cried out ‘Dai’chon!’ to me instead of ‘Tai-shan.’ ”
Again Ryhenna’s nervous laugh. “Not by chance, my lord, for thou greatly resemblest the god. The chon is little pleased.”
The dark unicorn wheeled. “Resemble—? What do you mean?”
Ryhenna tossed her head and snorted, surprised. “Hast thou not seen Dai’chon’s image, my lord—as black of body as thou, but with limbs and torso of a keeper and the head of a da? He carrieth the crescent moon upon his breast, as thou dost upon thy brow, and thy tail is unlike the full, silky tails of daya, more like a whip or flail.”
The dark unicorn felt his limbs go cold. He recalled the image before which the daïcha and her followers had bowed that first night upon the beach. He recalled similar figurines seized by the chon’s purple-plumes in the square as well as the unicorn-headed figurines that had so enraged the chon. The coppery mare spoke on.
“When the great streak of fire hurtled out of the sky on the first day of fall, the daïcha declared it a sign from Dai’chon and set out in search of the firegod’s gift.”
Memory welled up in the dark unicorn’s mind of standing soaked and exhausted upon a silvery, windswept beach and seeing a red plume of fire plunge out of heaven.
“Weeks later,” Ryhenna told him, “the daïcha returned with thee, calling thee Tai-shan. From the first, daya and keepers alike have whispered thou art the very image of Dai’chon: his steed, perhaps—or his messenger?”
The coppery mare watched him as she spoke, as though in hope of either confirmation or denial of her words.
“Many,” she continued, “even dare to say thou art the god himself, openly calling thee ‘Dai’chon’ in defiance of the chon’s edict and bowing down before images of thee instead of those of the real Dai’chon. Perhaps it is the daïcha’s fault in calling thee a name so close to the god’s—for now the people have confused the two, and the chon is furious.” A moment later, as in afterthought, she added, “Furious, too, that thou hast delayed so long in taking up thy duties as First Stallion.”
“What do you mean?” the dark unicorn asked again, baffled. He had lost her thread.
Ryhenna snorted, tossed her head.
“The First Stallion exists to get foals and fillies for the sacred stable,” she exclaimed. “Yet I and my sisters frolicked daily with thee for weeks, and thou madest not the slightest advance.”
Tai-shan shook himself, staring at the coppery mare. “You mean the chon intends you—you and your sisters—to be…my mates?”
Ryhenna stamped impatiently. “Of course. What else might I and my sisters be to thee? The chon is anxious for thee to sire more horned marvels such as thyself—not steal the people’s worship from their god.”
Tai-shan fell back a step, appalled.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded hotly. “Surely the chon knows—must guess—I have always meant to depart as soon as spring arrives, to seek my homeland and my people once more. I must leave this place!”
“No! The chon considereth thee no more than a strange sort of da,” the coppery mare replied. “He will never let thee go.”
“Ryhenna,” the young stallion told her, “I am no da but a free unicorn. How may the chon hold me if I mean to be gone?”
“By the same means he holdeth all my race,” the da mare answered softly. “With ropes and tethers, locked stalls and barred gates. With whips and bits and hobbles—and with tainted feed that taketh away even thy will to rebel.”
Her eyes flicked to his empty feeding trough. Following her gaze, Tai-shan felt a sudden chill.
“Tainted?” he said slowly, stupidly. “Tainted feed?”
The coppery mare avoided his eyes, her voice a whisper. “The sweetmeal the chon ordered for thee is laced with dreamroot. A healing herb, it speedeth the mending of wounds and numbeth pain—yet it can also induce trance, making the rebellious docile to the firekeepers’ will.”
The realization reverberated inside his skull like a thunderclap. The black unicorn stood trembling, stunned. The stable around him seemed to grow darker. Wind moaned beyond the warm enclosure’s draft-tight walls. He felt buffeted, cold.
“So many times,” the da mare whispered. “So many times I longed to tell thee—yet feared to rebel against my captors and my god.”
Violently, Tai-shan shook himself. “The daïcha,” he gasped. “The daïcha would never…”
“The daïcha hath no choice in the matter! The chon is her master as well as ours.” Ryhenna shook her head, speaking more forcefully now. “The dreamroot he ordered lest thou go abroad in the city again, inciting heretical adoration.“
Despite his belly’s insistent rumbling, the dark unicorn felt his gorge rise. He’d not touch another mouthful of that tainted meal! Tai-shan ramped and sidled, scarcely able to contain his agitation. His mind raced.
“I must find a way to flee this place!”
Ryhenna ignored his protests. “Nay. Escape is impossible. Put it from thy mind. Repent thy rebellion and accept the will of Dai’chon. If thou wilt not, my lord Moonbrow, then I fear for thee in sooth. Even now, it may be too late.”
“Too late?” the dark unicorn murmured.
Ryhenna looked at him hard. “I fear Dai’chon’s judgment upon thee, my lord! Surely to entice the people’s heterodox worship in defiance of the chon cannot have been the purpose for which Dai’chon sent thee among us.”
“I am no envoy of this Dai’chon,” the dark unicorn protested. “The two-foots’ confusion of me with their god is none of my doing!”
“Such mattereth nothing to Dai’chon,” the coppery mare snapped. “One may hide one’s inmost heart from one’s fellows, Moonbrow, but mighty Dai’chon recketh all. Twice yearly he cometh to judge the sacred daya. None can ever hope to escape his judgment—not even thou! I have seen his vengeance. It is swift and terrible. Dost thou not understand thy peril? The equinox is coming!”
Tai-shan shook his head, not following. “The equinox?”
Ryhenna came forward, pressing against the gate of her stall, her voice urgent. “On that day, every spring and fall,” she answered, “a great procession of townsfolk ascendeth at dawn from the sea to the palace gate. Passing within, they proceed to the white clifftops overlooking the sea. In the fall, the priests cut the young foals who are to become geldings and the First Stallion defendeth his harem against all comers. In spring, Dai’chon judgeth the herd and chooseth who must follow him. Those daya the priests then drive forth to the kingdom of Dai’chon….”
“Drive forth?” Tai-shan interrupted. “You mean they are exiled, sent into the wilds beyond the city?”
“Not banished,” Ryhenna hissed. “Sacrificed: herded over the cliffside into the sea!”
The coppery mare fidgeted, unable to stand still.
“A place in that select company is considered the greatest of honors, a glory outshining all. I think the chon would rejoice to see thee among that company—for without progeny to redeem thee in his eyes, thou art more trouble to him than thou art worth. Yet the people adore thee. Were Dai’chon to claim thee, however, the folk could raise no protest. It is an honor to die for
Dai’chon.”
The dark unicorn could only stand staring, amazed at her sudden fire. His belly growled again. He ignored it angrily. Ryhenna eyed him with wise, sad eyes.
“My lord Moonbrow, thou hast but one real hope of returning from the white cliffs alive: fulfill thy role as First Stallion. What other choice dost thou have? Even a life imprisoned is better than no life at all! Sire progeny upon thy brood mares. If thou wilt not, I fear Dai’chon will claim thee at equinox.”
Tai-shan shook himself. His skin twitched. Fear beat against his heart. “You think this Dai’chon means to kill me?” he breathed.
His stablemate nodded.
“Our dams tell us as nurslings that unlike the common daya, those sacred to the god do not truly die—that though our bodies may fall, we bluebloods house within ourselves a spark of Dai’chon’s fiery breath that mounteth the sky in triumph and gallopeth rejoicing to the pastures of Dai’chon.”
Ryhenna whickered without a trace of humor.
“But last year I glimpsed his chosen rotting on the rocks below the cliffs, food for scavengers. Though I hide it from my sisters, surely Dai’chon must reck my faithless, doubting heart, for I wonder if we bluebloods do not die like other beasts, and have no souls.”
For long moments, the dark unicorn could only gaze at the coppery mare. Then slowly he shook his head.
“I’ll not lay myself before the mercy of this terrible god,” he told her grimly. “Ryhenna, I mean to quit this place ere spring.”
“Too late, Moonbrow,” the coppery mare whispered. “It is already spring. The procession from the sea hath even now begun. This morn is the morn of equinox.”
Only then did Tai-shan note the hour. The little tongues of white fire in the distant lampshells by the enclosure’s egress burned pale and wan. Dawn had broken. He had never noticed the darkness greying, the shadows within the stable thinning. He heard Ryhenna’s sisters stirring sleepily within their stalls. Ryhenna told him: “This day, Moonbrow, must thou face the judgment of Dai’chon.”
Dark Moon ft-2 Page 15
