by Tara Grayce
“Amy, what’s going on?” Brett staggers a step with my help. His face is whiter than his white t-shirt. “I think I must be dreaming.”
I don’t have time to explain now. We have to get out of here before Grundel changes his mind. Or another ogre stumbles across us and isn’t as accommodating as this germophobic ogre.
“Thank you.” I give Grundel yet another perfect, princess smile. “Could you direct me to the closest place where we can leave ogre territory? I don’t want one of your people to get sick if they stumble across us and decide to eat him.”
Grundel nods. “Of course. My fellows aren’t as discerning about what they put in their mouths. Disgusting, really. If you follow the path outside to the right, you’ll leave our territory in a few miles.”
“Thank you once again. I’ll be sure to have my father send you a steer in gratitude for your understanding in this matter.” I struggle to keep my smile in place as Brett sags against me. I’m not sure he’s even fully conscious. I bob a nod at Grundel and drag Brett from the cave.
Outside, Trygg changes into a human and helps me haul Brett’s now definitely unconscious body behind the boulder.
Trygg sniffs, and his nose wrinkles. “He doesn’t look or smell too good.”
“I know.” I grimace and grip Trygg’s arm. “I’m sorry to ask, but can you carry him? We have to get out of ogre territory as quickly as possible, and it would only slow us down if I try to carry him or we carry him together.”
Trygg huffs a breath. “Fine. Put him on my back, I’ll carry him. Just don’t tell my dad, okay?”
“I won’t.” I grip Brett under the arms and do my best to lift him.
Trygg transforms and kneels on his front legs. I drag, push, pull, shove, and flop Brett onto Trygg’s back the best I can. Brett’s face bounces against Trygg’s fur, and he will probably wake up tasting dusty unicorn fur.
I set out on the trail to the right with Trygg following closely on my heels. When I glance behind me, Trygg’s ears are swiveling once again, his nostrils flaring, as he tests the breeze for the stench of ogre.
I hold my breath as we wind our way through tumbled boulders and jagged cliffs. But as we walk a mile, then two, the boulders and cliffs become smaller.
After four miles, we come to a stream with a wooden footbridge over it. We cross without being challenged by either a troll or a naiad. Even the naiads don’t like to live near ogre territory, apparently.
On the other side of the stream, the land opens up once again into rolling hills with stands of trees interspersed around small streams. The Ellian Forest is a dark smudge on the distant southern horizon. We traveled north while in ogre country, and we could parallel the rocks to head south to retrace our steps, but I want to put as much distance as possible between us and the ogres.
Instead, it would make more sense to travel the hypotenuse of the right angle triangle we’ve traveled so far. It is the shortest distance back to Largone Castle. The only bad part is that, if Dad is following with a search party, we will be heading in a different direction.
We continue to hike another few miles before we find a thick stand of trees and brush not too far from a stream. I check for dryads living in these trees, but none answer my greetings. This stand of trees must be unclaimed, and hopefully a safe place for us to spend the night.
While we probably could hike a few more miles, Brett needs help. He’s begun to shiver, and beads of sweat dot his forehead. It probably isn’t a good sign that he’s been unconscious for several hours now.
When Trygg kneels, I pull Brett off. He’s dead weight and floppy as a newly dead fish. He slips from my grasp and sprawls on the grass, his neck at an awkward angle, his arms and legs splayed.
I do my best to straighten him out and tuck a soft bundle of grass beneath his head.
Trygg peers over my shoulder, now in human form. “He really doesn’t look good. What’s wrong with him? Is it contagious?”
“No. I guarantee you can’t catch what he has. I actually told that ogre the truth. Brett’s illness is magic related.” I open my pack and dig out the canteen of water. The water in the canteen is already laced with unicorn horn powder so that it stays fresh when stored for a long time, so I don’t have to ask Trygg to let me shave slivers from his horn just yet.
I lift Brett’s head. His mouth flops open. I pour a trickle of water into his open mouth.
He coughs, chokes, and I think he swallows some of the water. I’m not sure how to go about this nursing thing. How to properly give water to someone who is unconscious isn’t something I’ve learned as a princess or in high school. It seems like a valuable life skill that really should have been taught somewhere. Maybe I should take a first aid course when I get home.
I pour more water into his mouth, and he seems to swallow more of it this time. He groans and shifts but doesn’t wake up.
I’ll probably have to keep giving him sips of water throughout the night. He’s dehydrated and his body isn’t used to Averell.
Tomorrow, once the unicorn horn powder has helped Brett regain some of his strength, we’ll walk to the portal, I’ll send Brett back through, and then I’ll face whatever punishment Mom and Dad have devised. Tomorrow I’ll get all of this mess straightened out and I can go back to my nice, orderly life balancing responsibilities in two worlds.
After eating some of the dried food from my pack, I spread out my bedroll. “I’m going to get some sleep. We have another long walk ahead of us tomorrow.”
Trygg snorts. “It’s too early for sleeping yet. I’m going to eat. Unlike you, there wasn’t anything I could graze on in ogre territory.”
“I gave you some of my dried fruit.” I curl in my blankets. The ground isn’t as comfortable as the hammock the dryads made for me the night before, but after the tension of hiking through ogre territory, I’ll probably fall asleep just fine.
“It’s not the same. Besides, I’m a unicorn. I need to eat a lot more than you do.” Trygg’s snort deepens as he turns into a unicorn. Shaking his head, he trots to the nearest stand of grass and munches on it.
I close my eyes. The good thing about traveling with a unicorn is their superior senses. Trygg will sense danger or smell if an ogre has wandered in this direction.
My muscles relax, and a warmth settles over me as sleep begins to take me.
But even as I fall asleep, I can’t help but wonder how I am ever going to explain things to Brett in the morning.
Chapter 9
I Escape My Biggest Fan
I nibble on my breakfast of dried fruit and the Averellian version of a granola bar, a combination of oats, nuts, and honey. This morning, Brett’s face isn’t as pale, and he isn’t shaking. I got up several times during the night to dribble more water in his mouth. I have to refill my canteen, but my stomach demanded food before I face whatever naiad guards the stream.
Trygg grazes on whatever grass he didn’t eat the night before. I can’t blame him for stuffing his face today. He didn’t get a chance to eat much yesterday.
Brett groans and shifts. His eyes fly open, and he stares at the trees above him, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. He’s probably trying to figure out why the trees look like maple trees, yet with smooth bark like a beech tree, and the sky has a purple cast to it.
Before I can even set my food down, Trygg trots over and puts his long, horse nose right up to Brett’s face, sniffing and eyeing him. Brett’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open. His head tips back as he follows the length of Trygg’s horn.
“Uh, nice...nice horse.” Brett slowly reaches out and pats Trygg’s nose.
In a blink, Trygg turns into his human self, Brett’s hand still on his nose.
Brett lurches backwards with a sound that was only a hair on the manly side of shriek and yanks his hand away.
Trygg cocks his head and turns to me. “Is that some kind of foreign greeting? And he talks funny.”
It’s a good thing Trygg doesn’t understand English or realiz
e that Brett was trying to pet his nose a moment ago. Unicorns are not pets.
Brett scrambles to sit upright, his gaze still locked on Trygg. “What in the world are you?”
Time for me to step in before either of them freaks out too badly. I dump the rest of my food into my pack and stand, speaking in English. “Trygg is a unicorn. I know it’s a little weird. Unicorns here aren’t exactly what we think of as unicorns back on Earth.”
“Amy.” Brett sags back against the tree and presses a hand to his head. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I? This is some weird dream. Did I get in a car accident or something? I’m in a coma. That has to be it. Just some weird coma-induced dreams.”
Trygg wrinkles his nose. “He still doesn’t smell very good. And I don’t understand a word he’s saying.”
I pat Trygg’s arm. “Sorry. He doesn’t speak any Averellian. And, he’s still sick. Once I explain how we got him away from the ogre, would you mind if I shaved the end off your horn? The powder will make him feel better.”
Trygg sighs. “Fine. If you have to. I’ll find a few rocks you can use to grind it.”
“Thanks, Trygg. You really are the best unicorn around, you know that, right?”
Trygg grins. “I know.” He trots off, still in his human form.
I sink to a seat cross-legged facing Brett. Should I let him continue to think this is some kind of dream? It would be easier when we get back home if he believes that.
But if he tells anyone about his “dream”? If anyone wants to investigate? If he is questioned by his mom or the police about his disappearance and he has no other explanation than a weird dream he fell into at my house?
We’re going to need his help to hide Averell after this. I have no choice but to tell him the truth. If he still believes it is a dream, at least I will have done all I can.
I take a deep breath. “This isn’t a dream, Brett. When you were at my house, you stumbled through a magic portal to this place. It’s called Averell.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, as if trying to piece everything together. The last day is probably nothing but a blur. “You have a magic portal in your basement.”
I can’t tell if that is meant to be a statement or a question. “Yes. My mom is the Guardian. We’re supposed to keep other people from stumbling through because bad things can happen if someone does. That’s why you’ve been so sick and everything is such a blur. Averell is different than Earth, different enough that your body is struggling to adjust. You won’t be able to eat the food or drink the water here.”
Brett blinks at me, frowning. His blue eyes still have a sort of hazy look to them, like he has a fever. “Why aren’t you sick?”
“My dad is from Averell, so I’m half-Averellian.” I stare at my fingers in my lap. Should I tell him dad is the king? Saying it now would almost sound like boasting. Probably best not to. It will change how he looks at me, and I’d rather say as little about Averell as possible. “But don’t worry. If I sprinkle unicorn horn powder on your food and water, you’ll be able to eat and drink, so you won’t starve before we can get you back through the portal.”
I don’t mention that, if we don’t get him back through soon enough, he will die anyway. Mom’s body has adjusted enough that she can stay longer in Averell, but she’s had years of traveling back and forth. Brett’s body is in shock after being thrown into Averell without the benefit of unicorn horn powder. He needs to be back in Michigan as soon as possible.
But we’re only a day away from the portal. He’s in no real danger now that he’s with Trygg and me.
Brett glances over my shoulder, then leans closer. “Unicorn horn powder? Does that unicorn know you’re going to chop his horn off?”
I shake my head. That’s how it’s always shown in books and movies on Earth. People are always trying to kill unicorns or chop their horns off or something. “It doesn’t work like that here. Unicorn horns grow from the same stuff as a unicorn’s hooves, and like a hoof or a fingernail, they can be trimmed without hurting a unicorn. I can’t trim off too much, but I should be able to get enough.”
“Hoof?” Brett wrinkles his nose. “So I’m really going to be eating unicorn toenails?”
“Well, sort of. I suppose if we run out of horn, trimming Trygg’s hooves might produce the same effect when ground. But the horn is different. It grows from his forehead, at least.” I shrug. It’s a good thing Trygg can’t hear this conversation. He would enjoy the thought of Brett having to eat his toenails a little too much.
“I got the stones.” Trygg returns to my side and holds out two stones. One is slightly larger and almost flat while this other is more round. They would do in a pinch. Back home, the unicorns sell their horn trimmings to the gnomes, who mechanically grind them into powder and sell it in their underground malls.
Since Mom and Dad need so much unicorn horn powder, Dad worked out a deal with the Stallion that the castle is supplied directly from the unicorns themselves, and Mom has a small grinder she bought from a gnome decades ago. Thankfully, the unicorns are laid back enough that they don’t ask too many questions and just accept that the castle needs a steady supply of unicorn horn powder.
Trygg turns into a unicorn and lies down so that I can reach the tip of his horn. Retrieving my knife, I carefully shave off the tip. There is a slight color variation between the dead tip and the living, blood-flowing rest of the horn, just like there’s a different between the end of a fingernail and the nail bed.
When I’m finished, I plop the large stone in front of Brett, place the horn shavings on it, and hand him the other stone. He isn’t so weak that he can’t help grind the horn into powder. “Grind this while I ask the naiad for water.”
“Ask the...what?” Brett fumbles the stone but catches it.
I don’t try to explain. He’ll see for himself in a minute. Picking up my canteen, I stroll from the copse of trees, down the slope, toward the creek below. Kneeling, I hold up the canteen. “Naiad of this stream, may I have permission to fill my canteen?”
The water ripples, then rises into a column of water five feet high. When the water solidifies, a five foot tall girl is standing in front of me. Her long hair is a deep midnight blue while her skin is a flawless light blue. Her dress is the same color as the deep earth of the stream bank.
When she tips her head down toward me, her eyes widen. “Princess Amarani.” My name is said in a whisper with the same sort of awe I’ve heard girls in my class speak about the British royalty.
I stand and give her my best half curtsy, even though I’m wearing slacks. “Yes, I’m Princess Amarani. I’m honored that you recognize me.”
“Recognize you? Of course! You always wear the most beautiful dresses to the balls and I watch the entertainment news on my vision rock for any updates on you and you are always so gracious and kind to everyone and I want to be just like you when I grow up.” The naiad gives a little sigh and twirls her mud brown dress. “But Momatka says naiads don’t wear any other colors besides blue and brown. No reds or pinks or yellows. Pink is my favorite color.”
I peer at the naiad closer, but she doesn’t look like she’s that much younger than me. Maybe thirteen to my fifteen. Yet she looks up to me?
This probably shouldn’t shake me, but it does. I’ve always done my best to be a proper princess and fulfill my role, especially since it’s a struggle thanks to the whole two worlds and lives thing. But I’m off-kilter. Not even sure which world I truly belong in.
Yet this naiad girl looks up to me as some sort of hero just because I get to wear pretty dresses and I know how to say the right things to the right people.
I should say something wise. But I can’t think of anything. I feel more like the fifteen-year-old freshman in high school half of me than my princess self. “I have to return to Largone Castle as quickly as possible with my friends, but once I’m back, would you like to be my personal guest at the castle for a day or two?”
Assuming Mom and Dad let me have friends�
�or fangirls—come for a visit once this is all over.
The naiad’s eyes widen even further. “Really? Come to the castle as your guest?”
“Of course.” My practiced princess smile broadens into a genuine one. “How can I contact you to send the invitation?”
“Oh, just say my name to a handful of water and let it run into the water system. I’ll get the message.” The naiad waves her hand at the stream.
“And your name is?”
“Oh, yes, that probably would be important for you to know. You can call me Nella. That’s the closest translation in your language. Thank you so much, Princess Amarani.” She performs a flourishing curtsy, splashing water onto the banks.
“You’re welcome. Now about the water...” I hold up the canteen again.
“Take as much as you like. My pleasure.”
“Thank you.” I kneel and fill the canteen. When I start back over the hill, I wave to her. “I’ll be sure to send you an invitation as soon as I possibly can.”
She grins, twirls into a water spout with a fangirl squeal, and disappears with a splash.
When I tromp back to the copse of trees, Trygg stops grazing and turns back into a boy. “That took you a while. I would’ve gone done there to see how much trouble that naiad was giving you, but you seemed to have it handled.”
“No trouble. Just a fangirl.” I roll my eyes.
I drop to the ground in front of Brett. He’s still staring at the stream, mouth hanging open.
“That’s a naiad. You can’t take water from any stream or pond in Averell without asking permission first.” I take the stones from Brett and begin to grind the rest of the unicorn horn myself. “If you want to have water, you have to negotiate a treaty with the naiads.”
Brett leans back on his elbows. His face has faded into a pale, gray cast once again. “That sounds...complicated.”
“It is. But that’s how things work here. At least the naiads keep the water fresh. No worries about getting a water-borne illness.” I grit my teeth at the burn starting in my shoulders. “You might as well rest while I finish. You’ll need your strength once we start walking. We have to get moving.”
