The Black Unicorn

by Terry Brooks

  Then something new appeared at the edge of the lake, beyond the nymphs and the vision of Willow—something at once both impossibly lovely and terrifying. Ben heard the muffled cry of the River Master. It was a cry of fulfillment. The whirl of sound and color shimmered and bent like fabric stretched, and the intrusion from without stepped gingerly into its weave.

  It was the black unicorn.

  Ben felt his breath catch in his throat. There was a burning in his eyes and a sudden, impossible sense of need. He had never seen anything as beautiful as the unicorn. Even Willow in the vision of the wood nymphs was but a pale shadow next to the fairy creature. Its delicate body seemed to sway with the music and the dance as it emerged from the dark into the sweep of color, and its horn glowed white with the magic of its being.

  Then Dirk’s warning came again, no more than a memory this time. Beware!

  “What is happening?” Ben whispered.

  The River Master turned back to him now, head swinging about in slow motion. The hard face was alive with feelings that danced across its chiseled surface in waves of light and color. He spoke, yet the words seemed to come not from his mouth, but from his mind. “I will have him, High Lord! I will have his magic for my own, and it will become a part of my land and my people! He must belong to me! He must!”

  And Ben saw suddenly, through the blanket of pleasant feelings and through the music and the dance, the truth of what the River Master was about. The River Master had not summoned the piper and the wood nymphs for the purpose of discovering anything of Willow or her mother. His ambition was much greater than that. He had summoned piper and nymphs to bring him the black unicorn. He had used music and dance to create the illusion of his daughter and her bridle of spun gold to draw the unicorn to the lakeside where it might be taken. The River Master had believed Ben’s story all right—but he had decided that the black unicorn would better serve his own purposes than the purposes of a dethroned and powerless King. He had taken Willow’s dream and made it his own. This whole business was an elaborate charade—the piper and the wood nymphs and the instruments used to create it.

  And, oh, God, it had worked! The black unicorn had come!

  He watched the unicorn now in fascination, unable to turn away, knowing he must do something to prevent what was about to happen, but frozen by the beauty and intensity of the vision. The unicorn shone like a bit of flawless night against the sweep of colors that had drawn it in. It nodded its slender head to the call of the music and cried once to the vision of the girl with her golden bridle. It was a fairy-tale rendering brought to life, and the loveliness of it was compelling. Goat’s feet pranced and lion’s tail swished, and the unicorn stepped further into the trap.

  I have to stop it! Ben felt himself trying to scream.

  And then the fabric through which the black unicorn had passed so easily seemed to shred at its center point high above the vision and the wood nymphs, and a nightmare born of other minds and needs thrust its way into view. It was a loathsome thing, a creature of scales and spikes, of teeth and claws, winged and coated in a black ooze that steamed at the warmth of the air. A cross between a serpent and a wolf, it forced its way in from the night and the storm and plummeted toward the lake, shrieking.

  Ben went cold. He had seen this being before. It was a demon out of the netherworld of Abaddon—a twin to the monster once ridden in battle by the Iron Mark.

  It came for them in a fury, then veered sharply as it caught sight of the black unicorn. The unicorn saw the demon as well and screamed a terrifying, high-pitched cry. The ridged horn glowed white-hot with magic, and the unicorn leaped sideways as the demon swept by it, talons raking the empty air. Then the unicorn was gone, fled back into the night, having disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

  The River Master cried out in anguish and fury. The demon swung back around, and fire lanced from its open maw. The flames engulfed the piper and turned the sticklike figure to ash. Sound and color dissipated into mist, and the night returned. Darkness flooded inward as the vision of Willow and the golden bridle collapsed. Ben stood once more on the shelf of rock beside the River Master, and the fury of the storm washed over them anew.

  But the wood nymphs whirled on, still caught up in the frenzy of their dance. It was as if they could not stop. All about the lake’s shores they spun, tiny bits of glowing light in the black and the wet. Torches fizzled and went dark, blown out by the rain and the wind, and only the light of the wood nymphs was left against the night. It drew the demon like a hunter to its prey. The monster swung back and down, sweeping the lake end to end, fire bursting from its throat and turning the helpless dancers to ash. The screams as they died were tiny shrieks that lacked real substance, and they disappeared as if candles snuffed. The River Master howled in despair, but could not save them. One by one they died, burned away by the demon as it passed back and forth across the night like death’s shadow.

  Ben was beside himself. He could not bear the destruction. But he could not turn away. He acted finally because the horror was too much to stand further. He acted without thinking, yanking the tarnished medallion from beneath his tunic as he would have in the old days, thrusting it out against the night, shouting in fury at the winged demon.

  He had forgotten momentarily what medallion it was he wore.

  The demon turned and glided toward him. Ben was suddenly conscious of Dirk at his feet, sitting motionless next to him. He was conscious now, too, of the fact that by drawing attention to himself he had just signed his own death warrant.

  Then lightning flashed, and the demon saw clearly the medallion, Ben Holiday, and Edgewood Dirk. The beast hissed with the fury of steam released through a fissure in the earth, and swung abruptly away. It flew back into the night and was gone.

  Ben was shaking. He didn’t know what had happened. He only knew that for some unexplainable reason he was still alive. Below, the last of the wood nymphs had ceased finally to dance and disappeared back into forest, the loss of light from their passing leaving dark the whole of the lake and hills. Wind and rain lashed the emptiness that remained.

  Ben stilled his hands. Slowly he placed the medallion back within his tunic. It burned against his skin.

  The River Master had sunk to one knee. His eyes were fixed on Ben. “That thing knew you!” he cried in anger.

  “No, it couldn’t have …” Ben began.

  “The medallion!” the other cut him short. “It knew the medallion! There is a tie between you that you cannot explain away!” He rose to his feet, his breath a sharp hiss. “You have made me lose everything! You have cost me the unicorn! You have caused the destruction of my piper and my wood nymphs. You and that cat! I warned you about that cat! Trouble follows a prism cat everywhere! Look what you have done! Look what you have caused!”

  Ben recoiled. “I haven’t …”

  But the River Master cut him short once more. “I want you gone! I am no longer sure who you are and I no longer care! I want you gone from my country now—and the cat as well! If I find you here come morning, I will put you into the swamp in a place from which you will never escape! Now go!”

  The fury in his voice defied argument. The River Master had been cheated of something he had wanted very badly and he had made up his mind that Ben was at fault. It made no difference that his wants had been selfish ones or that he had been deprived of something to which he had not been entitled in the first place. It was of no importance that he had misused Ben. All he could see was the loss.

  Ben felt an odd emptiness within him. He had expected better of the River Master.

  He turned without a word and walked away into the night.

  The rain and the chill turned Ben Holiday into a sodden, disheveled mess as he trudged back through the forest trees from the empty hillside and the angry River Master, and his appearance became an accurate reflection of his mood. The mix of emotions he had experienced from the music of the pipes, the dance of the wood nymphs, the vision of Willow and wh
at followed was still tearing at him with all the savagery and persistence of a wolf pack. He could still feel twinges of the ecstasy and freedom of self that the music and dance had brought, but the predominant feelings were of dismay and horror.

  The images played out in the dark solitude of his mind: the River Master, anxious to seize the black unicorn so that its magic might be his alone; that winged demon, burning the frail wood nymphs to ash as they whirled helplessly at the water’s edge; Ben himself, instinctively holding forth the blackened image of Meeks as if it were a talisman that would somehow be recognized …

  And perhaps it was.

  Damn, what had happened there? What was it that had happened? The winged creature had come for him to destroy him, then turned aside as if it had flown into a wall! Had it been the medallion, Ben, Edgewood Dirk, or perhaps something else entirely?

  The River Master clearly thought it was the medallion. He was convinced that Ben was bound to the demon—and to Meeks—in some foul way that protected all three. Ben shivered. He had to admit to the possibility. The image of Meeks might have been enough to turn back the demon …

  He stopped. That was assuming that the demon had been sent by Meeks, of course. But wasn’t it the only possibility that made sense? Hadn’t Meeks invited the demons out of Abaddon in the first place when the old King died? Ben started walking again. Yes, it had to be Meeks. He must have sent the demon because he knew the River Master was close to capturing the black unicorn, and he wanted the unicorn for himself—for whatever reason. But that meant he must have had some way of knowing that the River Master was about to capture the unicorn, and that in turn meant that Ben’s medallion might have provided such a way. Meeks had warned that the medallion would let him know what Ben was about. The medallion might have done exactly that. Ben might indeed have been responsible for the destruction of the wood nymphs.

  The screams of the dying fairy creatures still echoed in the dark corners of his mind, a savage reminder. Until they died, he had not even thought of them as real—just bits and pieces of light with human images cast upon the glow; slender, lyrical figurines that would shatter like glass if dropped …

  The whole mixed and teased in his mind until at last he shoved all the pieces aside violently. His questions bred more questions, and there seemed to be answers for none of them. The rain beat down in a wet staccato, drumming, puddling in mud and grasses, and running across the pathway he followed in small rivers. He could feel the cold and the dark pressing in about him and he wished faintly for a moment’s warmth and a spark of light. He walked; yet he was not really aware of where it was he was going. Away, he decided. Away from the River Master and the lake country, away from the one good chance he had of finding Willow before Meeks.

  His boots slapped at the mud and damp. But where was he to go?

  He cast about suddenly for Edgewood Dirk. Where was that confounded cat? It was always there when he didn’t need it; where was it now that he did? Dirk always seemed to know which way to go. The cat seemed to know everything.

  Dirk had even known what the River Master was trying to do with the music of the piper and the dance of the wood nymphs, Ben thought as he reflected on the events that had just taken place.

  Beware, the cat had warned.

  Convenient, that.

  His thoughts twisted, and he found himself thinking again of the medallion. Had it really brought the demon? Had it really been responsible for the destruction of the wood nymphs and the piper? He couldn’t live with that. Perhaps he ought simply to get rid of the thing. After all, what if it actually did work to the benefit of the wizard if Ben kept it on? Maybe that was exactly what Meeks wanted. The warning against trying to remove it might be a ruse. If he took it off, maybe he would be free of the wizard.

  He stopped once more and reached down into his tunic. He placed his fingers about the chain from which the medallion hung and slowly lifted it free. Staring at it in the dark, seeing its muted, tarnished image glimmer in the brief flashes of lightning that streaked the forest skies, he had an incredibly strong urge to fling the unsettling piece of metal from him. If he did so, he might set himself free, redeem himself in part at least for the destruction of the wood nymphs. He might begin anew …

  “Ah, my dear High Lord, there you are—wandering about in the dark like some blind ’possum. I thought I had lost you completely.”

  Edgewood Dirk stepped delicately from the trees, his immaculate coat glistening with rain water, his whiskers drooping slightly with the damp. He walked over to a fallen log and sat down on the dampened bark with studied care.

  “Where have you been?” Ben snapped irritably. He hesitated, then let the medallion drop back into his tunic.

  “Looking for you, of course,” Dirk replied calmly. “It seems that you need a great deal of looking after.”

  “Is that so?” Ben was steamed. He was weary, frightened, disgusted, and a dozen other unpleasant things, but most of all he was sick and tired of being treated like a lost puppy by this damn cat. “Well, if ever there was someone suited to the task of looking after people, it’s you, isn’t it? Edgewood Dirk, caretaker of lost souls. Who else possesses such marvelous insight into human character? Who else discerns the truth of things with such remarkable consistency? Tell me again, Dirk—how is it that you know so much? Come on, tell me! How did you know what the River Master was doing back there before I did? How did you know he was summoning the unicorn? Why did you let me just stand there and be part of it? Those wood nymphs probably died because of me! Why did you let that happen?”

  The cat stared at him pointedly for a moment, then began to wash. Ben waited. Dirk seemed oblivious to his presence.

  “Well?” Ben said finally.

  The cat looked up. “You do have a lot of questions, don’t you, High Lord?” The pink tongue licked out. “Why is it that you keep looking to me for the answers?”

  “Because you seem to have them, damn it!”

  “What seems to be and what actually is are quite different, High Lord—a lesson you have yet to learn. I have instinct and I have common sense; sometimes I can discern things more easily than humans. I am not, however, a vast reservoir of answers to questions. There is a difference.” He sneezed. “Besides, you mistake the nature of our relationship yet again. I am a cat and I don’t have to tell you anything. I am your companion in this adventure, not your mentor. I am here at my own sufferance and I can leave when I choose. I need answer to no one—least of all you. If you desire answers to your questions, I suggest you find them yourself. The answers are all there if you would make the necessary effort to look for them.”

  “You could have warned me!”

  “You could have warned yourself. You simply didn’t bother. Be grateful that I chose to intervene at all.”

  “But the wood nymphs …”

  “Why is it,” the cat cut him short, “that you continually insist on asking for things to which you are not entitled? I am not your deus ex machina!”

  Ben choked back whatever he was about to say next and stared. Deus ex machina! “You speak Latin?” he asked in disbelief.

  “And I read Greek,” Dirk answered.

  Ben nodded, wishing as he did that he might solve even a small part of the mystery of the cat. “Did you know ahead of time that the wood nymphs were going to be destroyed?” he asked finally.

  The cat took its time answering. “I knew that the demon would not destroy you.”

  “Because?”

  “Because you are the High Lord.”

  “A High Lord no one recognizes, however.”

  “A High Lord who won’t recognize himself.”

  Ben hesitated. He wanted to say, “I do, but my appearance has been changed and my medallion has been stolen, and so on and so forth.” But he didn’t because this was a road they had traveled down already. He simply said, “If the demon couldn’t recognize me, then how did you know he wouldn’t destroy me?”

  Dirk almost seemed to shr
ug. “The medallion.”

  Ben nodded. “Then I think I should get rid of the medallion. I think the medallion caused what happened back there—the appearance of the demon, the destruction of the wood nymphs, all of it. I think I should chuck it as far away as I can, Dirk.”

  Dirk rose and stretched. “I think you should see what the mud puppy wants first,” he said.

  His gaze shifted and Ben’s followed. Rain and gloom almost hid the small, dark shape that crouched a dozen feet away on a scattering of pine needles. It was an odd-looking creature, vaguely reminiscent of a beaver with long ears. It stared back at him with eyes that glowed bright yellow in the dark.

  “What is it?” he asked Dirk.

  “A wight that scavenges and cleans up after other creatures—a sort of four-legged housekeeper.”

  “What does it want?”

  Dirk managed to look put upon. “Why ask me? Why not ask the mud puppy?”

  Ben sighed. Why not, indeed? “Can I do something for you?” he asked the motionless shape.

  The mud puppy dropped back down on all fours and started away, turned back momentarily, started away, and turned back again.

  “Don’t tell me,” Ben advised Dirk. “It wants us to follow.”

  “Very well, I won’t tell you,” Dirk promised.

  They followed the mud puppy through the forest, angling north once more away from the city of Elderew and the people of the lake country. The rain lessened to a slow drizzle, and the clouds began to break, allowing some light to seep through to the forestland. The chill continued to hang in the air, but Ben was so numb with cold already that he no longer noticed. He plodded after the mud puppy in silence, wondering vaguely how the creature got its name, wondering where they were going and why, what he should do about the medallion, and most of all what he should do about Dirk. The cat trailed after him, picking its way with cautious steps and graceful leaps, avoiding the mud and the puddles, and working very hard at keeping itself clean.