The Secret Of The Unicorn Queen - Moonspell

by Gwen Hansen

  Darian rummaged through the pile of belongings, found his empty swordbelt, and slipped the blade into its sheath. "What was all that about?" he asked curiously.

  "Nothing," Sheila mumbled.

  Darian arched one eyebrow. "Well, for 'nothing,' you're starting to sound an awful lot like Micula," he told her, "and that may or may not be a good thing."

  Morning Star had come running the minute Darian and Sheila stepped out of the cave. It had taken a while to persuade her to let them mount, but not nearly as long as Sheila had feared.

  While Darian settled himself behind her, Sheila reached forward, untangling a knot in the unicorn's black mane. "Do you think she'll be able to manage with both of us on her back?" she asked worriedly.

  "I don't think that's going to be the problem," he yelped, holding on for dear life as Morning Star bolted from the cave.

  Although Sheila was the one supposedly controlling the unicorn, it was clear from the moment they set out that Morning Star could be neither guided nor held. It was as if all her time waiting outside the cave had been spent storing up a tremendous reserve of energy that was now being released in one mad run for Ryudain.

  Though Sheila would have tried to find the road again, Morning Star ran along the shoreline, splashing through the surf, leaping rocks and pieces of driftwood, getting stronger the longer and harder she ran.

  Darian and Sheila were soaking wet and freezing in no time. The wind had whipped the waves to a froth, and the breakers were crashing all around them. Sheila felt sure she would hear their roar echoing through her long after this day had passed.

  She barely saw the terain, and couldn't have said whether the coast had grown green or barren, mountainous or flat. The land went by in a blur. It was as if they were riding straight through the waves. Buffeted by wind and water, it was all she could do to hold on.

  Morning Star ran all day without slowing. As dusk fell she finally veered off the coast and began to run inland. Sheila saw that they were riding along the edge of a broad blue river rushing into the sea. The Caolin.

  At first the riverbank looked much like the shore, edged with wide strips of sand. But as they traveled farther inland, it became clear that they were riding into the mountain for­ests, the home of the wolves and the wildcats, a land of pred­ators who hunted by night. The trees grew dense around them, the ground steep, and when night fell the darkness was com­plete. Sheila could barely see the unicorn's head in front of her, and still Morning Star ran on, sure-footed and fleet, fol­lowing the sound of the river.

  Despite a cruel wind that hurled itself against them, Sheila was beginning to think they would actually reach Ryudain with time to spare. Morning Star had never run more swiftly or more tirelessly. It seemed nothing could stop her. And then the unicorn suddenly broke stride, skittering sideways in a frenzy.

  "What is it?" Sheila asked, unable to see what had scared the animal. She felt Darian's arm tighten around her waist as the unicorn reared up on her hind legs. "It's an owl!" he cried, shouting to be heard over the wind.

  An owl? Sheila thought with surprise. Why would a unicorn be scared of an owl?

  Then a streak of white lightning split the sky, and Sheila understood, Diving toward them, its talons outstretched and perilously close to Morning Star's head, was the largest owl Sheila had ever seen. Its wingspan must have been six feet across, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was hunting them.

  Sheila heard herself scream as the sky went dark again and she felt a giant wing brush her face. Morning Star was growing more panicked by the second. She jerked her head down and then arched it up again, ran forward a few steps only to back up with a terrified whinny.

  Again lightning illuminated the forest in a blaze of hot white, and with it the rain began, cascading wildly through the treetops. Within seconds everything in the forest was drenched. And still the owl hovered above them. There's something unnatural about this, Sheila thought, trying desper­ately to hold on to Morning Star. The owl gave a loud screech. Then, just as Sheila was sure it would attack, it gave up, ap­parently unwilling to withstand the rain.

  Morning Star came to a halt, her sides heaving. Worried, Sheila leaned forward to comfort her. "Come on, girl," she urged. "You're all right. Let's go. You don't want to stand here in all this rain." She knew her voice wasn't carrying over the fury of the storm, and pressed her knees against Morning star's flanks. Neither did much good. The unicorn stood as if frozen in place.

  Sheila turned in the saddle to face Darian. "I can't get her to move!" she shouted.

  She never heard his response because the thunder began then, crashing so loudly that Sheik was sure the sky was breaking open. It was all Morning Star could take. As if meeting the storm with her own fury, the unicorn gave a high-pitched scream and reared up again. Sheila and Darian tumbled to the ground, and Morning Star galloped straight into the night.

  For a moment Sheila lay stunned, half sunk in a pool of rainwater. The fall had knocked the wind out of her, and she didn't even try to move until the nausea had passed.

  "Sheila?" Darian's voice came from somewhere nearby.

  "Over here." She stood up, bruised, shaken, and chilled by the icy rain. But all she could think about was Morning Star. They would never catch her. And although the sky was completely dark in the storm, she knew there were only three more nights till full moon. Please get to Ryudain in time, she prayed. Please get to Ryudain.

  Darian sloshed over to her. In the flash of another light­ning bolt, she saw that he was covered with mud and pine needles, but otherwise seemed all right. His hand closed over her arm. "Let's try and find some shelter.''

  "Do you think Morning Star will be okay?" she had to ask. Though the rain was still pelting down, the wind had quieted and they were finally able to talk without shouting.

  "I don't know. Come on," Darian said tersely, steering her through the darkness.

  Sheila planted her heels in the mud. "What about the owl?" she said. "There was definitely something weird about that owl."

  "Can't we have this conversation when the rain lets up?" Darian asked with an attempt at humor.

  Sheila shook her head stubbornly.

  “Then, if you're asking me if I think the owl was magic, the answer is no. Owls happen to grow very large in this part of the land."

  "But it shouldn't have attacked Morning Star," Sheila insisted. "Micula once told me that owls were creatures of the moon, like the unicorns. So I don't see why an owl would try to keep her from Ryudain."

  "You're probably right," Darian admitted tiredly, "but there isn't anything we can do about it. Morning Star's on her own now. I'm hungry and soaking wet. All I really want to do is get out of the rain—unless, of course, you would rather stand here and chat."

  "You don't have to get sarcastic," Sheila grumbled as they began trudging through the forest.

  Lightning was still streaking the sky, so they didn't dare take shelter under a tree. But as far as Sheila could see, there was nothing but trees—trees, and somewhere nearby a river swollen with rain. Even above the thunder, they could hear the Caolin ripping its way through the woods. Sodden and miserable, they headed toward the river. In the morning they would be able to follow it toward Ryudain, they told each other. It was a good idea. But though they could clearly hear the sound of the river, they couldn't seem to find it. Instead, they wandered aimlessly through the storm.

  Sheila's hands were so cold she could barely move her fingers, and her feet had long ago gone numb. She stumbled over logs and into puddles in her struggle to keep pace with Darian. The thunder made her jump, and when lightning struck a tree just ahead of them and the massive trunk caught fire, she stood transfixed. She hadn't thought she could pos­sibly get any wetter or colder or more frightened, and yet the night was definitely getting worse. It almost seemed as if the storm had set a trap for them. First, it had separated her from Morning Star. And now it was going to make sure they never left the forest alive.

 
Darian suddenly pulled her to him. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to the left. "Look straight ahead of you," he said, "and tell me what you see.

  Sheila did as he asked. Then, just to be sure, she shut her eyes and opened them again. It was still there. "I see a house," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "A huge stone house with hundreds of small, square windows. And every one of them is lit."

  11

  The House in the Woods

  Sheila and Darian approached the house warily. It was hard to believe it was real. What would such a grand house be doing in the middle of a forest? Still, Sheila told herself, if it was some sort of illusion, Darian was experiencing it, too.

  Up close the house was far larger than it had originally seemed. Built of stone and massive timbers, it towered above them. Sheila couldn't even guess how many stories tall it was; with all those crazy windows, it was impossible to tell. All she knew was that the light inside looked inviting, and the sound of the rain hitting the roof made her want more than anything to be inside, It had been a long time since she had been in anything resembling a house. In Laric's palace she and three of the other riders all shared a large, rather sparsely furnished room. The idea that somewhere inside this house there might be a warm, cozy bedroom nearly undid her.

  Sheila stared at the black lion's-head knocker on the door. What if they knocked and whoever was inside refused them shelter?

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" Darian asked.

  “I just can't believe this is real," Sheila said honestly.

  Darian gave a bitter laugh. "Neither can I, but I'm willing to find out. If we're going to meet danger, I'd rather do it warm and dry."

  Sheila had no desire to argue. She lifted the iron ring that hung from the lion's mouth and let it fall. On the third knock the door swung open.

  Framed by the light of an elaborate candelabra was a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the fourth-grade teacher Sheila had long ago adored. She almost said, "Mrs. Kaplan?" but Mrs. Kaplan would never have been wearing a floor-length gown of green velvet, nor would her dark hair be threaded with perfect, tiny diamonds.

  The woman looked at the two shivering, soaking-wet teen­agers with astonishment. "Come in, whoever you are," she said. "This is no night for traveling."

  Gratefully, Sheila and Darian stepped into the entryway. From the inside the house was even grander than they had imagined. A chandelier ablaze with candles lit the main hall, revealing rich tapestries, a long, finely polished table, and a blazing fire in a black marble hearth.

  Sheila was suddenly terribly conscious of how awful she must look, Glancing down at the stone floor, she was horrified to discover dirty puddles around her feet. "Maybe we shouldn't come any farther," she murmured. "We're dripping all over your house."

  "Yes, you are,” the woman conceded with surprising warmth. "However, I'm sure I have some dry clothing you can borrow. The floors will survive a little water. Please, you must at least wait out the storm and let me feed you some dinner."

  Charmed, Sheila and Darian followed the woman through the great hall, into a parlor whose walls were covered with green and gold silk, and then up a broad, winding stone stair­case. On the third landing the woman turned and led them down a wide corridor. She pointed to two doors, one diago­nally across from the other.

  "Please make yourselves comfortable," she said graciously. "There are wardrobes in each room. You may borrow whatever you like until your own clothing has dried. And in the meantime, I'll bring you some warm food."

  Sheila and Darian exchanged a glance in which they re­alized that neither one of them had any intention of turning down this offer. Thanking the woman, Sheila went into the room on the left, and Darian the room on the right.

  Sheila gasped with delight at the sight that awaited her. It was all delicately carved cherry furniture and the finest fab­rics—a thick blue carpet on the floor, chairs upholstered in a lighter blue silk, and a thick down bed covered with a woven blanket of ivory wool so soft that Sheila found herself uncon­sciously stroking it. Get a grip! she told herself with a grin when she realized what she was doing.

  She stood for a moment warming herself in front of the fireplace, then crossed the room to the wooden wardrobe. Turning a tiny gold key in the door, she opened it to find a row of gowns and tunics. Apparently, the woman had a hus­band, and from what Sheila could see, he was taller and broader than Darian. The woman was also taller and broader than Sheila, and Sheila stared enviously at the gowns, won­dering if any of them could possibly fit. They were all in jewel tones—deep blues, reds, greens, and purples-some edged with golden thread, a few embroidered with gemstones. Sheila held up a blue one with sapphires set in the neckline. Never had she seen such finery. But much as she longed to wear one, she somehow knew they weren't meant for her. What if she did something really stupid and completely typical like spill soup all over the sapphire one?

  Quickly she flipped through the men's tunics. These, too, were finely woven, but at least they felt like something she might legitimately wear. She took out what looked like the smallest one. It was simply cut from the same soft ivory wool used for the blanket. With great satisfaction she shed her own filthy tunic. On a bedside table she found a marble basin filled with water and immediately set about washing up.

  She had just finished changing into the new tunic when she heard a knock on the door. The woman entered the room, bearing a loaf of fresh bread and two steaming bowls of stew on a silver tray. "What?'' she said in surprise. "I thought you would choose a gown.

  "I didn't think they'd fit,'' Sheila said sheepishly.

  "Neither does the tunic," the woman remarked with a laugh as she set the food down on a small rectangular table.

  "I can belt it," Sheila explained. She eyed the food hun­grily. "That looks great," she said.

  "Then I'll leave it with you." The diamonds in the wom­an's hair glittered with the light from the fireplace as she looked toward the windows. "The storm is still raging," she said. "You will stay the night, won't you?"

  Sheila glanced at the big feather bed. Nothing had ever looked more inviting. "Probably… can we let you know after dinner?"

  "I'll be downstairs if you need me," the woman answered, picking up the tray with the second bow. "Now, I'd better take this in to your friend before it gets cold." With a smile she left the room.

  Sheila sat down at the table, thinking that things couldn't be more perfect. If someone had deliberately set out to create her fantasy of the ideal escape from the storm, they couldn't have come any closer than this house. She picked up her spoon and stopped. In fact, now that she thought about it, everything seemed just a little too good to be true. She put her spoon down regretfully. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe everything really was fine, but suddenly she wanted to talk with Darian before she got any more comfortable.

  Sheila had no sooner stood up than the door swung open. She let out a sigh of relief as Darian walked in. He, too, had changed into a fresh tunic, but his fit considerably better than hers. "I was just going to find you,” she said, thinking that this was no time to be noticing how handsome he was.

  He looked around her room in surprise. "This is completely different from the one I’m in," he said. "Mine has all these great old shields and banners hanging from the walls. I could look at those things for hours."

  Sheila's first thought was that their room assignments had worked out very well, and her next was that they'd worked out too well. "Maybe that's exactly what you're supposed to do," she said slowly. "Darian, I've been thinking that every­thing here is a bit too perfect."

  "Ingrate," he said with a grin.

  "No, really. I—''

  "Shhh," he said, crossing the room to stand by the wall of windows. Without another word, he opened the iron latches and pushed against the casements.

  "Haven't you had enough rain for one night?" Sheila asked in exasperation.

  The windows didn't budge.

  "Actually
," Darian said. "I was thinking it might be a good idea to get back out there again." He pulled his sword from his belt and began methodically ramming its hilt into each of the windowpanes. He could have been hitting stone for all the effect it had. He turned to face her. "The windows in my room don't open, either. And they don't break, which I find pretty strange. Almost as strange as what you're talking about. I'm afraid you're right. Ever since we saw this place, things have been too neat. Too easy."

  "As if they were arranged for us," Sheila said, trying to quiet the fear that was rising inside her.

  Smiling, Darian brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "I think we actually agree on something for once. Let's get out of here."

  Without another word, Sheila buckled on her swordbelt, grabbed her soggy backpack from the floor, and followed Darian into the hall, Moving soundlessly he led the way down the stairway. Sheila's heart was hammering as they reached the ground floor. Neither one of them had any idea where the other outside doors might be. Their best bet was to go out the way they had come in. But to do that they would have to go through the parlor and the great hall. Sheila found herself wishing she had mastered the spell of invisibility.

  Ahead of her, Darian hesitated a moment. Then, keeping his body close to the shadows, he edged into the parlor. The house was unnaturally quiet. Don't think about it; just go, Sheila told herself, taking one slow step after another. She breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the room. Darian was already moving into the great hall, which meant the coast was clear. Maybe the woman had gone to sleep. Feeling slightly bolder, Sheila worked her way past the fireplace and around the long table. She froze at a faint creaking sound, decided it was noth­ing, and continued on.

  At last she reached the entryway. Darian stood at the door, intent on lifting the great iron crossbar that served as a bolt. Sheila drew her sword1 standing guard over him. She saw him fumble with the latch, then heard him swear under his breath. He turned to her, his eyes bewildered, and shook his head silently.