Bad Unicorn

by Platte F. Clark

  The Wez started to get up when Princess grabbed his hand. “Wait, fine. The human’s name is Max Spencer.”

  The goblin nodded, committing the name to memory. “All right then, follow me.”

  The Wez led Princess and Magar through the club, past a storeroom, and finally through a heavy door where an orc sat keeping guard. They entered the adjoining room to pots of yellow flowers that began to glow with a warm light. Various totems hung on the walls and a small table stood in the center of the room. An apothecary-sized collection of glass vials littered all the other available surfaces, and an odd variety of stuffed animals were scattered about, including a rabbit with long antelope horns on its head. “The mythical Jackalope of the Techrus,” the Wez said when they stopped to take a look at it. “It disguises itself as a tourist-shop novelty and then slowly poisons whoever takes it home.”

  “Clever,” Princess said, running her finger along the Jackalope’s horn.

  The Wez motioned to the small table and the three of them took a seat. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” he asked cordially.

  When they had finished, the goblin sat back and let it sink in for several minutes before speaking. “I can think of three reasons the magical compass of yours can’t point to this Max Spencer.”

  “Gimbal,” Magar interrupted, clearing his throat. “Not just some enchanted compass, but the Gossamer Gimbal of legend. The Gimbal has the power to track anything across the three realms.”

  “When it works,” the Wez said, trying not to let his annoyance at the Tower-trained wizard show. Wizards seemed to enjoy turning any conversation into a lecture. “So either the Gimbal is broken—”

  “Impossible,” Magar said, interrupting again. “The Gimbal was crafted by a triad of smiths—one in the Shadrus, one in the Magrus, and one in the Techrus. They were bound by black magic, employed dragon fire to form the metals, and performed other rituals that I shudder to even think about. No, it cannot simply be ‘broken.’ ”

  “As you say, then,” the Wez said with a courteous nod. “So that leaves us with two possibilities: Either Max Spencer has traveled in time, or he’s somehow slipped into the umbraverse.”

  “Time travel?” Princess said dismissively. “I don’t think so.”

  “The spell of Futurity is said to be one of the Fifteen Primes,” Magar answered on the Wez’s behalf. “If Max Spencer has the book and can read it, then it is possible. But I doubt a boy—even a blood relative of the World Sunderer himself—untrained, inexperienced, and without a mentor, could ever hope to grasp hold of such magic. More likely he would destroy himself in the process.”

  Princess considered that for a moment and then turned to the Wez. “This whole time travel business is unsettling. What if he’s traveled backward and not forward?”

  “Ah, an excellent question. I happen to have something that will provide the answer.” The Wez stood and walked to a nearby wall. There he retrieved something wrapped in an exquisite red and gold cloth. He returned to the table and carefully uncovered the object: a silver and black mirror. The Wez handed it to Magar, keeping the reflective surface angled away from the wizard. “Traveling backward in time creates ripples in our reality. You see, this mirror is very special—made from elements gathered from the umbraverse, which sits outside our universe and so is beyond our rules. As such, it can see what no other mirror can.”

  “And what might that be?” Magar asked.

  “All realities. To travel in time is to change the present. This mirror, however, reflects both what was and what will be. So take a look for yourself, wizard. If I’m right, you’ll see two versions of yourself.”

  “Why two?” Princess asked.

  “Two, because once before a traveler walked through time. Most likely the World Sunderer, but who can say for certain?”

  Magar slowly turned the mirror toward him. Inside he saw two images. The first showed him looking much like he was now, but instead of being dressed in the strange human attire, he was wearing the robes of a Tower magister, his hair longer and flowing down to his shoulders. The second image, however, showed him as a disembodied metallic head with dead eyes. “Madness,” Magar exclaimed, turning the mirror over. Something about it shocked him to his very core.

  “Not madness, I’m afraid, but a path through time,” the Wez replied, trying to process the strangeness of what he saw over the wizard’s shoulder. “Although which path you walk now, I cannot say.”

  “Let me see now,” Princess demanded. “I think what we have here is a carnival trick.”

  “No,” Magar interjected, still a bit shaken. “There is power there. Perhaps you should not look.”

  The Wez, however, ignored the wizard and handed the ornate mirror to Princess. “It is your choice,” he said. Princess took it greedily, then flipped back her hair and looked into the mirror. She saw herself in her unicorn form, a silvery-white creature with a long horn projecting from her head and threads of pink hair mixed in with her glorious mane. But the second image made her recoil—she was made from metal and fashioned as some kind of monstrous machine. Instead of eyes, crimson lights glowed from hollowed-out sockets, and shiny sharpened teeth glared beneath metallic lips. Princess thrust the mirror toward the goblin.

  “Explain or I swear I’ll destroy you and turn this club into rubble.”

  “I’m sorry if the images were disturbing,” the Wez said calmly as he put the ornate mirror away. “But the mirror only reflects, it does not create. May I suggest what’s important is not what you saw but the number of reflections cast back. In this case, there were two—just as there have always been. If Max Spencer had used the Codex to travel back in time you would have seen three.”

  “So that’s the whole point of your little freak show, to count to two?” Princess asked.

  The Wez shrugged. “I believe we can say for certain that Max Spencer is either in the umbraverse or has traveled into the future. That is why the Gimbal is not working.”

  “If time travel were possible as you say,” Magar added, thinking things over, “surely the Mad Sunderer would have gone to the day of his wife’s accident and changed what happened. Given all we know, that seems the most logical choice.”

  “Indeed—and yet history remains.”

  “So what does that mean?” Princess asked. She was starting to tire of all the speculation.

  “It means we have more questions than answers. For instance, can the Prime Spells be controlled at all? Can some destinies not be changed, no matter what we do? Can some spells be cast only once? Did someone other than Maximilian Sporazo travel through time? These are questions that are beyond our knowing—at least for now.”

  “Then to the original question,” Magar continued, “what do you suggest we do? How do we find the boy and the Codex?”

  “Well, we are traveling toward the future as we speak. Sooner or later you’ll catch up to him—assuming you live long enough.”

  “That’s hardly an option,” Princess responded. “Is there no other way for us to travel into the future?”

  “None that I know of,” the Wez admitted.

  “Then the only other option is the umbraverse,” Magar said glumly. “But with the branch destroyed, that path is closed to us as well. Although I am not saddened by that fact.”

  “That idiot Kraken!” Princess shouted, slamming her fist on the table. “I had the power to take us to the umbraverse and he ruined it! So that’s it, we’re out of options, then?”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t say that,” the Wez offered. “You see, to you the shattered branch from the Tree of Attenuation is dead. To me, a bit of necromancy can pull some life out of it yet.”

  “What does that mean? You could reattach it to my horn?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” the Wez answered with a sigh. “But I could concoct a drink for you—I’m thinking a bit of an herbal tea should do the trick. In any case, I happen to possess sand taken from the umbraverse itself. Not an easy thing to get
, mind you, but if combined with the branches . . . well, I think I can get you there if you don’t mind a little grit in your cup. I’ll just require two of your silver leaves as trade. More than fair, I should think.”

  “Princess, we should be cautious,” Magar warned. “The umbraverse is a place of strange magic and unfathomable horrors. I know a wizard who traveled there, a powerful spell caster with great potential. When she came back she could no longer even speak. Her eyes told us the truth of it—she had gone mad.”

  Princess, however, had long since made up her mind. She wasn’t going to spend years stuck in the Mesoshire. And she certainly wasn’t going to wait around for the future to just happen. She was a creature who needed to keep moving—a bored unicorn was a dangerous thing indeed. Princess produced one of the silver leaves, holding it out in front of her. “I’ll give you one, not two. With one I can still send the boy back to the Maelshadow. And you know you will never have the chance for another.”

  The Wez hesitated for a moment and then put his hand out. When the leaf was passed to him, he gently walked it over to a vial and dropped it inside, pushing a rubber stopper in. “I will get started then,” he said, quickly gathering other vials from around the room.

  The process of making the tea required getting the broken branches, sand, and several other elements into a glass pot where the ingredients were pressed and strained. The Wez then made a second batch, this time without the sand but using other elements, and put them into tea bags instead of brewing. Before long, Magar and Princess were sitting with steaming cups of the first brew in their hands, and each had a tea bag stowed away for later use.

  “You should have enough to go and come back,” the Wez said, admiring his work. “I added a touch of peppermint to help with the flavoring—no extra charge.”

  “And we will be able to get back?” Magar asked, looking at the tea suspiciously.

  The Wez shrugged. “I’ve never used actual branches from the Tree of Attenuation—but I believe I’ve got it worked out.”

  Magar looked back to Princess. “I think this is a mistake, Your Highness,” he said, knowing he had to try to dissuade her one last time.

  Princess frowned. “I know, and so you’ve said already. But I’ve made up my mind and we’re going. So you drink first—I want to see what happens.” Magar took a deep breath and brought the concoction to his lips. It tasted as bad as he’d imagined, but the peppermint did help. And then he blacked out.

  The cup fell to the table and broke. Magar was gone.

  “I assume this means it worked?” Princess asked, the steam rising from her own cup.

  “I believe so. And if I may, after you take a drink remember to put your cup back on the table. The set was a gift.”

  Princess gave the Wez a last look. “Just so we’re clear, if something goes wrong I will kill you. And then I’ll brew my own tea made from the marrow in your bones. Do you understand?”

  The Wez nodded. Such threats were to be expected, although a unicorn might be powerful enough to make good on them. “As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, Princess,” he added finally, “I want nothing more from you, your wizard, Rezormoor Dreadbringer, or his Maelshadow lord. I’ve helped when asked, we’ve traded, and that will be the end of it. So, if you don’t mind . . .”

  Princess smiled, sipping from the teacup. But instead of putting the cup down she held it high above the table. When she popped out of the room, the cup fell and shattered.

  The Wez sighed and got up to grab a towel and broom. But as he did, he took out some of the broken Tree of Attenuation branches that he’d snuck into his pocket. He placed them in a vial, secured the top, and added them to his collection. After everything he’d heard, he knew what he needed to do next: He needed to find Max Spencer before Princess and Magar did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THERE’S A RAT IN THE SANDBOX

  (THE TECHRUS—FUTURE)

  THE MARKER FOR THE HUNTING GROUND REMINDED MAX OF THE Washington Monument, only instead of white stone it was black. It stretched above the tallest trees and had an intermittently flashing light on its topmost point. In the distance, Max could just make out the blinking lights of other obelisks as they competed against the orange and purple light of dusk.

  As they rode, Max had time to think. The initial rush that came from getting everyone excited wore off quickly, and now just the ache in the middle of his stomach remained. He wondered about his mom and how all the parents must be going crazy trying to figure out what had happened.

  Sarah called a halt, and they climbed out of the air sled. As they did, one of the frobbits standing near Max tugged on his shirt, pointing off to the tree line. Something was walking toward them, waving. It was about five feet tall, green, and carried what looked like the skull of a ram on a long staff. The creature was wearing armored shoulder pads and a chest piece made from a bunch of smaller, bleached animal skulls. What struck Max the most, however, was the fact that the creature was see-through.

  “Hey,” it called, waving again. “You’re Max, right?”

  Max held the Codex in his hand, ready to open it to one of the pages he’d marked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the little green creature continued, “this must be kind of weird for you.”

  Dwight stepped forward, his axe in his hand. “Don’t get any bright ideas—greenie. So is this how it begins—round one or something?”

  Yah Yah, who was standing nearby, shook his head. “We’re not in the hunting grounds, friend dwarf. And I’ve never seen such as this.”

  “Yeah, you’re all Ghost of Christmas Past–like,” Dirk added.

  “Did you, uh, need something?” Max asked. “How do you know me?”

  “Well, we haven’t exactly met—not yet, anyway,” the creature answered. Dirk moved behind him and peered though the ghostlike body. “Although the spirits say we will, which could mean right now, or later in the past, or if I summon you after you’re dead. There’s a bit of ambiguity to these sorts of things.”

  “Begone, foul spirit goblin!” Dwight yelled, raising his axe. “I know you for what you are.”

  The creature smiled. “Well, at least you didn’t call me a troll.”

  “You’re a goblin?” Dirk exclaimed, stepping around to study it closer. “Awesome.”

  “That I am. I am called the Wez.”

  “The Wez?” Dwight repeated, lowering his axe and scratching at his beard. “I’ve heard that name—you’re some kind of warlock who practices dark magic.”

  “That’s me—a humble practitioner of the outlawed magic the Tower doesn’t want acknowledged.”

  “The Tower—you mean the Wizard’s Tower?” Max asked, remembering both the story of his ancestor and the vision he’d had when the Codex had first jumped them forward in time. “It’s surrounded by a castle, right? And an ocean?”

  “That’s the one,” the Wez said, giving Max an odd look. “You talk almost as if you’ve been there before.”

  “I’m sorry, but are you a ghost?” Sarah asked, still not having come to terms with the whole see-through goblin part.

  “Not a ghost,” the Wez said, motioning to himself. “This here is a reflection of a shadow passing through the umbraverse. It was the only way I could meet you.”

  Dirk passed his hand through the goblin. “Yep. Totally ethereal.”

  Sarah gave Dirk a double take. “Ethereal?”

  “Yeah, gamer term,” Dirk answered. “Means not solid. Full of . . . ghostyness.”

  “I know what it means,” Sarah answered. “I’m just surprised you did.”

  “And why exactly are you wanting to meet us?” Dwight said, getting the conversation back on track.

  “Well, you’re going to need some help. And I can’t do much, not with things the way they are—but I can do a little. And it took me a long time to find you—maybe too long, I’m afraid.”

  Max was suspicious. “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Well,” the Wez s
aid with a sigh, “that’s a long story. Let’s just say there’s nothing I’d like more than for you to come back in time and change some things—like the extinction of the human race, for one. You disappearing like you did set events into motion. Not that it was your fault, you just weren’t around to stop them.”

  “I think we should be careful here,” Sarah said to the group.

  “Yeah,” Dwight offered. “Maybe greenie here is telling the truth, and maybe this is some kind of unicorn trick.”

  “Unicorn?” the Wez asked, looking surprised. “Princess is still around—after all this time?”

  “Robo-Princess is what the beastie calls herself now,” Dwight answered.

  The Wez shook his head. “Then I have truly underestimated her. I understand your reluctance to believe me, such as I am. But you cannot allow this Robo-Princess to win.”

  “It’s okay, you can trust the goblin,” Glenn suddenly added from Max’s belt. “He can’t hide anything—he’s, like, see-through. Plus, I can totally vouch for him—he and my sister used to hang out.”

  “Sis—,” Max started to say, giving Glenn a strange look. But the Wez raised his staff, interrupting.

  “A long story and we have little time,” the Wez continued, turning back to Max. “So I’m just going to give it to you straight. The last few centuries were a real low point in history. Even worse than the plague, which I might have accidentally had something do with, but that’s not important right now. What is important is you’ve got the Codex of Infinite Knowability and nobody can teach you how to use it. I’ve spent a long time working out how to find you and what to tell you once I did. So here it goes: The spells you really need aren’t going to be just written down in that book of yours. You try and overthink magic that big and you’ll never make it work. The key is flowing around in that red gook you call blood. So when things get bad—and I’m sure they will—just relax and listen for it.”

  “It?” Max asked, not able to think of anything else to say.