Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  “I heard that, you scurrilous, hairy excuse for a cloven-hoofed caterpillar!”

  “And you’re in love with your reflection, you snooty, mincing old windbag!” snorted the Faun.

  “What are all these insults about, Akê-Akê? I’ve noticed how everyone insults each other–except the Witch, of course. Nobody would dare insult her.”

  “The familiarity of long association,” he replied. “Camaraderie. Companionship. Come along, you snivelling excuse for a half-witted wizard. You don’t scare me.”

  Kevin shook his head in bemusement. Some aspects of socialising with other creatures–for he was often painfully aware of how circumscribed his world had been before Feynard–still made him wonder. The little rituals people invented. Such as the Faun prodding him awake every morning with the edge of his hoof, or the way Zephyr and Alliathiune bickered like cat and dog but were actually firm friends.

  The crew were commendably responsive to his request. In short order Hunter, Akê-Akê, Alliathiune, and Kevin were installed in a precarious cockleshell craft that made bath toys look safe, being rowed ashore. Zephyr had to wait for more convenient exit, or as he was now doing, he could expend his magical power levitating himself across the lapping waves. Showboating was such a bad habit! Kevin sniffed and nearly fell on his face as the boat grounded. Then he did trip over the gunwale and landed on hands and knees in the warm surf. Akê-Akê howled with laughter. All Kevin could think was how very salty seawater tasted, and the priceless look lighting Alliathiune’s wan face.

  “This is my first beach,” he said to her, watching Akê-Akê and Hunter trotting off to scout and secure their surroundings. “I’ve never been on a beach before.”

  “Me neither.”

  “You don’t say. I didn’t know that!”

  “There is much about me to know,” she smiled, linking her elbow with his. “This is the Dryad way of walking, good Kevin. Arm in arm.”

  “Is that so? I suppose I should have remembered from the Well.” He scratched his scraggly beard. “Indeed, I recall how your companions explicitly avoided taking your arm, Alliathiune. I felt bad for you.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” she said, but seemed pleased. “That disease is called the power of Seeing. Other Dryads are afraid of me.”

  “I’m afraid of you.”

  “Please. I couldn’t bear that.”

  There it was, her ability to throw his thoughts all into a muddle with one soft phrase. Ridiculous! He rallied to reply, “It has crossed my mind once or twice, I confess to my undying shame, Alliathiune, that you must have cast a spell over me. I’ve changed so much, I hardly know myself these lighttimes. I used to know how I would react in a given situation. Now I haven’t a clue. That’s the scariest thing.”

  She gave him a funny look. “You silly man, I’ve done nothing of the sort. You are a free agent–freer now than ever before. Freer than in your past life.”

  “For which I have you to thank.” Kevin met her diffident gaze with all the brilliance he could muster. Free! “I’ve never thanked you for bringing me to Driadorn, Alliathiune, and moreover, for becoming my friend. I am more deeply grateful than words can convey.”

  “You’ll make me cry again,” she whispered, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  “I’m–uh, I’m sorry about that too.”

  “Don’t be.” Alliathiune drew a huge breath. “Look, here’s a suitable tree.” She turned to face him, clutched his good hand in hers as though she would never let it go. “Good Kevin, I wonder if you remember a particular conversation we had after the Bridge of Storms? Quite early on?”

  “I do,” he smiled. “I’m afraid you left me with questions about my questions, but a much clearer idea of the nature of friendship.”

  Alliathiune laughed wryly. “I’m sure I did. One of the things to know about me, good Kevin, which I did not tell you that darktime but was on my mind, was that my mother committed suicide. She was the one who killed the Ra’luun King, you see. She took her own life in just the manner you inadvertently referred to–she refused to enter a tree and take the Sälïph-sap. The Queen tried to force her, but she would not submit.”

  “Oh, Alliathiune, that’s terrible.”

  “She was a strong woman. It took her a long time to die. They kept me away from her because I was in seclusion for my training as a Seer. Now I regret it more than you will ever know. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, things that I have never been able to say. She wrote me a letter, you see, before she died, explaining everything. Seer magic is erratic and dangerous.”

  “So you didn’t …?”

  Alliathiune shook her head, looking away.

  “I’m so sorry, Alliathiune.” Kevin frowned at the top of her bowed head, thinking at two levels, her terrible pain on the one hand and how petite she was on the other, even in comparison to him. “Was she related to the Dryad Queen?” he asked.

  “My mother’s elder sister.”

  “Ah,” he breathed. That explained the air of command that Alliathiune employed at the drop of a hat, usually to facilitate getting her own way in some matter. She was the Queen’s niece! And a Seer to boot.

  The nuances within her words still eluded him, however. He felt as though discovering the truth of her nature was like treading spiral pathway, probing deeper and deeper into a many-layered mystery–often returning to what he knew already, but from a different angle. Complicated indeed. Now, was she telling the whole truth?

  But he did like nothing more than a good puzzle!

  “I should enter the tree while there is time, good outlander,” she said, disengaging their hands. “And Kevin?”

  “Noble vegetable?”

  Alliathiune whispered, “Please understand when I say there can never be more than friendship between us. You have feelings; I have too. But this can never be.”

  He opened and closed his mouth without being aware of anything but a terrible pain in his breast.

  “It pains me too, good Kevin, but I would not see you hurt.”

  Tears burned his eyes as Alliathiune merged with the tree.

  * * * *

  Repairs were rapidly effected by the willing crew, who worked their hands raw during the daylight hours and feasted on the delights provided by hunting parties–breadfruit, fowl, and wild pig, mangoes, papaya, and dry victuals from the ship’s store. It was a welcome change from the rations they had been forced to endure while becalmed on the Endless Ocean, so named because no one had ever discovered the far side, though there had been several ill-starred voyages of discovery.

  Kevin quizzed Zephyr about the Ra’luun King, learning only that they were tree-dwelling Human people, living far to the southeast in Driadorn’s realm, in a rainforest region. He knew no more than Alliathiune had revealed–the Ra’luun, having become enemies of the Forest under Omäirg, were defeated by the Dryads by means unknown.

  Three darktimes later the vessel was re-floated to much cheer and no little celebration on the part of the crew, who threw a wild and good-humoured party. There was dancing around a roaring bonfire, much feasting courtesy of a giant boar Hunter had brought down, and Amadorn’s music for entertainment. There was Unicorn poetry, fireworks from the Witch, and Alliathiune treated them to a rendition of the Ballad of Anuillathuine, a lively Dryad folksong about a girl who wished the Eagles to teach her how to fly and the adventures she encountered before finally soaring into the clouds. Zephyr conjured illusions to amuse and frighten, while Akê-Akê tried to teach of group of inebriated sailors the art of Faunish round-dancing, to much hilarity.

  Given the quantities of rum consumed and the pounding hangovers that accompanied Indomalion’s rising, it was closer to noon than sunrise before folk were back aboard and making preparations to leave. People winced every time the captain roared at his sailors to go aloft or raise anchor.

  Their vessel was just starting to feel the press of bulging canvas when Kevin said to Amadorn, “Have you seen Zephyr?”

  The
Druid frowned. “Indeed not, good outlander.” He raised his head and called, “Has anyone seen the one-horn?”

  His strong, trained voice cut across the hubbub of departure like the clarion song of a trumpet. Sailors and companions stared around in confusion. Where was the Unicorn? Who had seen him last? Was he at the party? When did he leave?

  “Down anchor!” bellowed the captain.

  The rattle of chain nearly drowned out Hunter’s cry, “Look! On the slope!”

  Every eye on the ship fixed on the sight of trees bending and breaking in a steady, almost stately procession, as though a massive boulder were tumbling along, crushing all in its path. A great scar was being rent along the mountain’s flank, deepening before their disbelieving eyes. Fire burst up along its path. The trees and bushes caught quickly, as though licked by napalm.

  A strange group of creatures rose from the trees just ahead of the conflagration; Kevin realised it was many red creatures mobbing and attacking one. Glimmering of Dawn came hurtling from the skies like a thunderbolt, striking with beak and talon in an awesome fury. He tore the group apart. Bodies plummeted from the sky.

  “It’s Zephyr!” Kevin shouted.

  “Demon vultures!” Akê-Akê gasped. “It is a conjuring of the Dark One!”

  From this distance they could do nought but watch. Zephyr appeared to be running, levitating himself above the growing conflagration, but the strange creatures swarmed up in great numbers from the vegetation, surrounding him in a ring of talons and teeth. Fire burst from the Unicorn’s horn, momentarily clearing the way, but others fell upon him from above and behind–and they saw now another creature rising from the trees, the red-eyed Kraleon who had pursued them through the Fenlands. Clawed hands waved, orchestrating the battle.

  The Unicorn was sore beset. Glimmering of Dawn was right in the midst of the fray, clawing and snapping at the red creatures, but for every one he dropped three rose to take their place. Two latched upon his back, tearing at his head and neck feathers with their beaks, whereupon the lord of the skies side-slipped wickedly close to Zephyr’s flashing hooves and had his tormentors summarily removed. Faint sounds of the battle floated upon the breeze–the hissing of fire, the cracking and destruction of trees, the harsh cries of the blood-red vultures as they slashed Zephyr’s exposed back with their talons. Several had hooked their claws into his mane and hung around his neck, trying to tear him open and breach the great arteries of his life.

  Hunter flashed up the beach and into the trees, running with all her speed as she unlimbered her bow. Akê-Akê was belatedly in pursuit, but the Mancat was far swifter across the ground than he. Snatcher raced past the Faun too, and vanished into the foliage.

  Kevin saw Amadorn’s staff flash high overhead, launched from his hand like a javelin, and as it flew it shimmered, morphing into a chain of flashing lights. It streaked across the sky and detonated like a thunderbolt, showering Zephyr and his attackers in a silvery rain. Dozens of the attackers simply disappeared, the magic that had summoned them undone. But the Kraleon waved its arms and greater numbers yet rose from the trees, pursuing Zephyr and Glimmering of Dawn with fearsome, angry cries.

  He raised his arms, but for once, did not know what to do. Kevin had no firebolt that could reach over that distance. Although he willed it, the magic did not surge out as before. He shouted in frustration!

  The Eagle took Zephyr’s harness in his claws in an effort to speed their flight by adding the power of his great wings. Kevin began to hope they would draw clear. But a long, dark neck rose from the treetops and took a toothy snap at the pair, catching Glimmering of Dawn’s primary flight feathers in its mouth. The delay as they struggled free cost them dearly. The red vultures descended as though a feast of the finest carrion were laid before them. The Unicorn vanished beneath the crimson press. Arrows flicked out of the trees now, cutting down some of the creatures, but their swarming numbers were simply too great.

  The fight was much closer now, skimming over the trees. The sailors belatedly took up arms as they realised they might come under attack.

  Glimmering of Dawn was first to fall, so weighed and hampered by the press of bodies that when the black, scaly beast rose ahead of him again, he had no chance. The mouth engulfed both him and a dozen vultures, chewed, and spat out a sodden mass of bones and feathers.

  Kevin fell to his knees, choking in horror.

  Amadorn and the Witch blasted the Kraleon with fires of their own, and the combination of their powers gave it pause. They had learned from the previous encounter. The dark creature dropped into the trees, and vanished.

  But the demon vultures were still tearing strips off Zephyr’s hide. The Unicorn’s reserves were spent. Amidst a last gasp of flame, he tumbled helplessly into the treetops, and the weird, rolling conflagration steamrollered over the place where he had fallen. And suddenly, there was silence.

  Every eye aboard scanned the shore anxiously.

  Akê-Akê and Snatcher emerged from the trees and limped down the beach. The Lurk carried Hunter in his arms. They were both hollow-eyed, and at the sight of their grim, defeated mien the Witch struck the guardrail in dismay. Amadorn cursed softly and shook his shaggy head. Kevin swallowed hard.

  Not a word was said as they made their way aboard.

  “There was little left of the brave Eagle,” Snatcher rumbled, voicing the Lurkish keen of grief. “The dark summoning did rend him wing from wing. Hunter was struck by a falling tree and lies unconscious.” He laid her gently down, and then opened his huge palm for all to see. “This we found where the noble one-horn did fall.”

  Each Unicorn’s horn is unique in colouration and patterning. Zephyr’s was a foot long, double-spiralled, pearlescent in the sunlight as though it were a many-coloured jewel, beautiful and serene, but at that moment, it represented his demise.

  Alliathiune uttered a wordless cry and collapsed upon the deck, weeping sobs torn from her body as if by cruel hooks.

  Kevin whispered, “He’s dead? It cannot be!”

  “He invoked the magic,” Amadorn said softly. “When a Unicorn is in critical danger, he is able to resort to this last and greatest magic. Within the horn the Tomalia remains inviolate.”

  “What do you mean? He lives?”

  Amadorn bowed as low as he was able. “An explanation, even at this saddest of times. Good outlander, this horn magic is a matter of conjecture and speculation, even amongst the most learned minds of Thaharria-brin-Tomal. Their earliest legends suggest that the Tomalia were not native to Driadorn, but came down from the stars in times before histories were recorded. Elliadora herself gladly welcomed these noble creatures, and granted them home and hearth amidst the peaceful vales of the Seventy-Seven Hills. And so the noble Tomalia have dwelled here since the beginning of Driadorn–some say they are older even than the Dryads, who assisted Elliadora in the planting and nurturing of the great Mother Forest.”

  “Indeed, the Unicorns came to find peace because they were chased and hounded from whence they came, due to a great evil that had risen against them in times past. The one-horns believe that much was lost during that flight. This realisation partly underpins their insatiable hunger for knowledge. You see, they believe that those who have aharr brrtha altha, or, ‘taken to the horn’ in their parlance, merely sleep. How did they cross the vast, starry spaces, if not by this means?”

  It was an intriguing conjecture, thought the Human, and a typical mythology to explain a race’s origins as godly or otherworldly–which was not unknown amidst the primitive peoples and cultures of Earth too, he remembered reading. But the Druid was not yet finished, and an even bigger surprise was in store for him.

  “There is in Thaharria-brin-Tomal a great hall called the Ardüinthäl. You have been there, yes?” Kevin nodded, recalling his audience with Mylliandawn. “Indeed, the original purpose of the great hall was not for the meeting of Unicorn leaders, but as a fitting monument to those who had taken to the horn during the great journey–and never
restored because the knowledge was lost. Why think you there are so few Tomalia? There are literally thousands of horns, my friend, stored in the chambers alongside the Ardüinthäl against the lighttime of their redemption.”

  “My word! It’s unbelievable.”

  “Believe it, good outlander. Perhaps Zephyr merely sleeps in the hope that someone, somehow, will find the way to free his people.” Amadorn reached out and took the horn from Snatcher’s paw. “He would want us to keep his memory alive. He would want us to heal the Forest, our great Mother. Noble Kevin, I believe he would’ve wanted you to have this.”

  He pressed Zephyr’s remains into Kevin’s hand.

  Kevin turned the horn over in his fingers. It was as exquisite as Zephyr himself. He would keep it safe. Quietly, he swore that he would find a way, had he to move the pillars of heaven itself, to bring Zephyr back again.

  And then he broke down and wept.

  Chapter 21: Utharia and the Wet

  Six lighttimes later, blessed by winds kept favourable by Amadorn and the Witch, the company reached the port of Uthar, the capital city of Utharia. Here they rated a surprise welcoming committee of a cavalry regiment supported by sixty heavily-armed foot soldiers.

  “Nice welcome,” Akê-Akê muttered aside to Amadorn, who limped glumly along under the watchful spear-points of a coterie of soldiers. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  “Quiet there!”

  Snatcher glared at the soldier, who snapped his mouth shut and dropped back into the encircling ring. One does not argue lightly with a ten-foot Lurk.

  “Where do you think? Out of the city.”

  Kevin eyed the dark little men in escort. Far from being welcomed, the travellers were quickly hustled through the back streets and out of the city gate. Someone must have warned them. It smacked of the Dark Apprentice’s handiwork, or even of that Kraleon creature. He had no desire to see them again. And he was concerned that they would not simply be kicked out of the city, as Akê-Akê had suggested. No one went to this kind of bother only to let them go on the other end. It had the feeling of a march to an execution.