The Secret Of The Unicorn Queen - Moonspell Page 7

  She shook her head, noticing that the lion cub seemed to make Jeno uneasy.

  "Either it's this Ryudain thing driving Morning Star crazy or she doesn't want you to leave," Darian said thoughtfully.

  "Doesn't matter which," Sheila grinned, picked up her bedroll, and set it out at the far end of the cave. "It looks like I'll be staying for a while."

  All that day the tides swelled, so that even at low tide it was impossible to leave the cave without wading through water knee deep. The cave echoed continually with the sound of crashing surf and rain, and Sheila began to dream they would all be swept away in a flood. Early in the evening and again some­time after midnight, she had gone out to check on Morning Star. In between she slept—and dreamt. In her nightmare the Tomai had caught the unicorn and were holding her down for sacrifice, a gleaming knife raised above the pure white throat. In reality, however, Morning Star had been keeping herself out of harm's way. Though she came at Sheila's call, she wouldn't let herself be touched nor would she approach the entrance to the cave. She's returning to the wild, Sheila thought sadly, wondering if the next time she called, the uni­corn would be gone, making her own way toward Ryudain.

  8

  Night of the Half-Moon

  Sheila slept late the next day and awoke to find Darian gone. It was nearly afternoon—the afternoon of the half moon-when he returned to the cave from what he called "a little scouting."

  "The piers down in the village were swept away in last night's rain, and the fields are completely waterlogged. They're losing their crops," he reported. "And I caught a snatch ofconversation—something about some woman hunting the unicorn and losing her soul."

  Sheila shut her eyes at the memory. What had she done?

  “Anyway," he went on, "she's still terrified, and the rest of the Tomai aren't too pleased. The good thing is, they ob­viously haven't caught a unicorn for tonight's ceremony. Most of them are out now, hunting like mad."

  "Oh, Morning Star . . ." Sheila moaned.

  Darian gave her a reassuring smile, "Look, if Morning Star won't even let us get near, you can be sure she's going to keep her distance from everyone else. Don't worry," he said. "She can take care of herself."

  The lion cub chose that moment to wedge himself be­tween them, making Sheila laugh in spite of her fear. "So what do we do tonight?"

  Darian sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "I think the ceremony is being held in the fields. At least, they're setting up some sort of platform there. The most important thing is that if they do manage to get a unicorn, we find some way to free it. But I don't think that's going to happen. They haven't been successful so far, and they don't have much time left before moonrise. So they'll probably sacrifice a lamb or a cow.”

  "A goat,'' Jeno corrected him.

  “A goat, then. What I'm planning is to show up at the ceremony and convince them I'm some sort of messenger from their gods. And the message is—leave the unicorns alone!"

  "I've already told you that won't work," Jeno said in a bored tone.

  Sheila had to admit it didn't sound terribly promising, but at the moment she didn't have a better idea. ''Well," she said, we could use makeup from my backpack and paint our faces to look really bizarre. And we could take my tape recorder, and I'll play some tape really loud. That should scare them."

  "What's a tape?" Jeno asked.

  Sheila grabbed her recorder from the pack, slipped in her only metal tape, and blasted it. Jeno looked mildly curious but otherwise unaffected. "You're both going to get killed," he predicted.

  "So are you if you don't shut up," Darian snapped. He looked at Sheila and said, "Let's get started."

  Sheila nodded and reached into her pack for the makeup she had brought along. She took out three little pots of blush, a palette of eyeshadows, an eyeliner pencil, and a lipstick. Starting with the black eyeliner, she drew designs on Darian's face that made him look as if he were wearing a fierce kabuki mask. Gradually she began to fill in the lines with splashes of red, blue, yellow, and green in the most garish combinations she could think of.

  Darian was squirming impatiently by the time she sat back on her heels to assess her work.

  "Well?" he asked.

  “You'd be great on Halloween," she said with a sigh.

  "On what?"

  "Never mind. Turn around and face Jeno. See what he thinks.''

  Jeno promptly dissolved into hoots of laughter. "That," he gasped between howls, "is the funniest thing I've ever seen.

  Sheila put her head in her hands, and Darian stalked out of the cave.

  Darian returned a few moments later, having washed his face in the surf. He glared murderously at Jeno and then looked wistfully at the backpack. "There's nothing else in there that might help?" he asked.

  "I don't think they would fall for the sparklers twice," Sheila answered. "And the only other thing I can think of is the tape player." Actually, she had considered the camera, but even if she could work out the logistics of photographing an entire tribe at once in the dark, she wouldn't do it. She had had enough of soul stealing.

  Jeno straighted up against the wall. "If you'll let me go, I'll help you.”

  "Why?" Darian asked bluntly. "I thought you believed in the sacrifice."

  "I believe in our gods," Jeno answered carefully, "and that something must be given to the moon to stop the floods. But I don't like the priests. And if you're caught . . . what they'll do to you will be a lot worse than what you've done to me. It wouldn't be right."

  "How can you help us?" Sheila asked, wanting to believe him,

  "Untie me," Jeno said, bargaining already.

  Darian stood with his arms folded, weighing the boy's claims. "First," he said, "I want your word that this isn't a trick and you won't try to run."

  "You have it."

  "Second, I swear that if you betray us in any way, you won't live to see the next moon, even if I have to come back from the dead to see to it. Do you understand?"

  The boy nodded seriously.

  "Good." Darian smiled, drew out his knife, and cut Jeno's bonds. "I was getting tired of keeping you prisoner anyway.

  Jeno stood and stretched luxuriously. "All right," he said in a take-charge voice. Obviously, he was delighted with the switch from captive to mastermind. "Here's something you two don't know about this ceremony—the night of the half moon is also the night of prophecy. During the ceremony the gods will speak through members of the tribe."

  "They'll what?" Sheila asked,

  "They will speak through us; the priests will be chanting, and then suddenly someone will start talking in a voice that's not his own. It always has something to do with the future, and it almost always comes true. We call it the Prophecy of the Gods."

  "So?" Darian prompted.

  "So I've never had it happen to me, but it's supposed to start in your twelfth year. I was thinking maybe I'd start to­night."

  "And you'll tell them not to kill the unicorns?" Sheila said hopefully.

  Jeno frowned. "I'm still not sure that the unicorns aren’t connected to the disasters," he said honestly. "But you've said that all this stuff should get better after full moon. So I'll just tell them to hold off until then."

  Darian shook his head. "It’s better than my plan, but what if someone else's prophecy directs them to kill all the unicorns tomorrow?"

  "Simple," said Jeno, his hazel eyes sparkling with mis­chief. "We give them proof that I'm the one to believe. I'm not going to just tell them to leave the unicorns alone-I'll also prophesy the coming of a stranger to the village. And then," he added, nodding at Darian, "before the ceremony is even over, that stranger will miraculously appear."

  "And what will they do to him?" Sheila asked, feeling the beginnings of fear. Jeno's plan meant giving up Darian to the Tomai. Could this be the boy's way of getting revenge?

  "That depends." Jeno sidestepped the cub who was dart­ing at his ankles. "It all depends on how Darian handles him­self.''


  Darian flashed a reckless grin. "Don't worry about that part of it," he said. "The question is, what do we do now?"

  "Nothing. All you have to do is show up after moonrise. Watch the ceremony, and then shortly after I've made my prophecy, announce yourself."

  ''I don't like this," Sheila said nervously. "Darian, they could do anything to you— including decide that you'd make a terrific sacrifice."

  "They won't," he said shortly.

  "Besides," she went on, looking at Jeno, "do you really think it's right to pull a hoax like this in the middle of a religious ceremony?"

  He shook his head uncertainly, suddenly looking very young.

  Darian stepped forward and grabbed the cub, who was still going after Jeno. ''Look," he said, "this isn't a perfect plan. It just happens to be the best one we have." He knelt beside Sheila. "I trust him."

  "With your life?" she demanded.

  Darian nodded. "With my life. But I'm going to need you to back me up, to be out there watching and ready to come to the rescue if I need you. Will you do it?"

  "You know I will," Sheila said reluctantly. "But I still…"

  "Good," Darian cut her off, his eyes alight at the promise of action. "Jeno, you probably ought to go home now, so your family doesn't die of shock when you show up at the cere­mony."

  "I'm really free again,'' the boy said softly.

  "Go!" Darian ordered, giving him an affectionate cuff.

  The Tomai boy nodded. "I'll see you both after moonrise." And he was gone before Sheila had a chance to say good-bye.

  Except for a perfect half moon, the sky was dark when Sheila and Darian left the cave and headed for the Tomai village. The rain had let up, but the wind was sweeping in off the sea, and Sheila shivered as it cut through the thin cloth of her tunic, She rubbed at her right arm. "That cub of yours," she complained. "I reached down to pet his head, and he scratched me.

  "I'll have a talk with him," Darian promised. "You do that,'' Sheila said, smiling.

  They kept off the main paths, working their way from the outskirts of the village to the fields. Even by moonlight they could see that the village was awash in mud. Pools of stagnant seawater surrounded the Tomai huts; and when they finally reached the fields, Sheila saw that a good part of the crops had washed away.

  "There," Darian said, nodding to a large square platform surrounded by torches.

  Sheila felt her heart speed up as she watched the Tomai gathering. There was no sign of any unicorn or unicorn's blood, but still she was frightened. What if Jeno had been lying to them? What if he hadn't and the plan failed any­way?

  "We have to get closer," Darian whispered, "or we'll miss Jeno's performance."

  Sheila tightened her hand on the hilt of her sword. She didn't intend to fight anyone, but the feel of the cold steel was reassuring. Silently she followed Darian until they found hiding place just yards away from the ceremony.

  A man who must have been a priest stepped to the center of the platform and began an invocation to the powers of the moon. One by one the people of the village joined him, and the chant turned into a lilting, haunting melody.

  It's beautifitli Sheila thought in surprise. She had expected something barbarous and instead found herself listening to one of the loveliest songs she had ever heard. It ended as it began—one by one the voices dropped off until only the priest was singing.

  A woman—one of the village elders, Sheila supposed—stepped forward and respectfully addressed the moon. In a soft uncomplaining voice she enumerated all the ills that had af­flicted the village: there were farms flooded, boats lost, prop­erty destroyed, domestic animals killed by wolves and mountain lions, and one woman who had lost her soul. It was a small price to pay, the speaker went on, to offer the blood of the unicorn in return for the moon's favor, but even that offering had been denied them. The Tomai hoped that tonight the moon would accept, as a mere token of good faith, the blood of a goat. They would continue to hunt the unicorn, she promised.

  Sheila watched transfixed as a small white kid was brought struggling to the platform and held down. All she could think was, That could have been Morning Star. She closed her eyes as the knife flashed through the night, but she couldn't shut her ears to the animal's terrified shriek. Curled up with her head on her knees, Sheila tried to pretend she hadn't heard the sound; tried to pretend she was home safe in her own world, in her own room.

  "The sacrifice is over," Darian whispered, putting an arm around her. He held her like that until she stopped shaking.

  The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. There were ritual prayers, followed by chanting, dancing, and the burning of incense. Sheila barely noticed when a woman began to speak in a strange high-pitched voice.

  "That's it," Darian whispered. "They've begun the proph­ecies."

  Sheila picked up her head and listened. The first two prophecies seemed like nonsense to her—seven sheaves of wheat that would feed seven families, a ship woven out of reeds.

  Then Jeno stepped forward, and one of the elders cried out, "The boy's first prophecy! Heed him well."

  Jeno's eyes were fixed on the distant ocean, and when he spoke it sounded as if he were in a trance. Clear and distant, his voice carried easily on the wind. "The unicorns belong to the moon," he began. "They are sacred to her, and if you would keep faith with her, their blood must not be spilt. She will send you a sign of this, a young warrior who bears her crescent on his right arm. She-" Here Jeno began to sway, and before anyone could reach him, he crumpled to a limp heap on the platform,

  "Is he all right?" Sheila gasped.

  "I don't know," Darian said, sounding shaken. "That was a little too realistic for me.''

  A man with brown curly hair and wide-set eyes stepped up to the platform, lifted Jeno tenderly in his arms, and carried him into the darkness.

  "That must be his father," whispered Sheila. "I hope the boy's all right."

  “Me, too. I wasn't counting on anything like this." Da­rian turned to her and ran a gentle hand through her hair. "Listen, I think I'd better make my appearance now.

  "No!"

  "I must. It's time to make Jeno's prophecy come true.

  Jeno was unconscious, Morning Star's whereabouts were anyone's guess, and Darian seemed determined to surrender himself to the Tomai. "I don't want you to go!" Sheila cried; she couldn't stand the thought of being alone on this strange, haunted night. "Please don't. We'll think of something else."

  "Take care of yourself," Darian said. "I'll be back soon. I promise." He held her tightly to him, released her with a kiss, and then he was gone.

  Sheila's heart began to race as she watched him walk into the torchlight. At first the Tomai, intent on another proph­ecy, didn't notice him at all. He stood in the crowd at the edge of the platform, just another onlooker, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

  The priest was chanting again, holding up a silver goblet to the moon, when a man cried out and pointed to Darian. "The moon's warrior!" he proclaimed, "The moon's warrior has come!"

  Instantly Darian was surrounded. One of the Tomai took his sword, while someone else grabbed his arm and pointed to the scar. Through it all, Darian remained remarkably calm. He stood silently, letting the Tomai have their way, but Sheila wondered how long that could possibly last. She knew that even unarmed and outnumbered, Darian would fight to the death if challenged. Intrigued with their prize, the Tomai began poking at him. They're trying to make sure he's mortal, Sheila realized with a sense of shock.

  "That's enough'." the priest suddenly spoke. The crowd fell back, leaving Darian surrounded but untouched. “Bring him here."

  Darian stepped onto the platform, angrily shaking off the men who would have carried him.

  "Who are you?" the priest demanded.

  Sheila held her breath.

  "I serve the lady of the night skies," Darian replied qui­etly.

  "And she has sent you here?"

  "Wherever I go, it is according to her
will."

  The priest regarded Darian skeptically. His hand shot out, taking Darian's arm. Slowly he traced the crescent scar. "It is as Jeno foretold," he said at last. "We will nor shed the uni­corn's blood." Sheila nearly yelped with relief, but the priest's next words made her heart thunder again. "Lock him in the grain house. We will watch this warrior of the moon.”

  I won't cry, Sheila told herself as she saw Darian being led away. But when he vanished into the darkness at the edge of the field, she was powerless to stop the tears.

  9

  The Unicorn's Gift

  Sheila dried her eyes and set off after Darian. She would have to find the grain house and free him. She just hoped he wouldn't be under guard. He had been led off the south end of the field, so she walked in that direction, taking care to steer clear of the ceremony and anyone who might be wan­dering about.

  She was just approaching the spot where she had last seen him when she heard a pssst!

  Relax, she told herself, but her hand went instinctively to the sword at her waist. Your mind is playing tricks on you. There's no one here except you.

  "Sheila!" the same voice insisted.

  Sheila froze and peered into the shadows. "Jeno?"

  "Over here!" A curly brown head popped out from behind one of the huts.

  "I am so glad to see you!" Sheila whispered as she fol­lowed the boy along an overgrown path. "We thought you were unconscious."

  "I was," Jeno said, He stopped and turned to her in the dark. "It was a genuine prophecy. I didn't even know what I said until my father told me afterward."

  Sheila felt a chill run through her.

  "I couldn't stay at home then," Jeno went on. "I had to go back to the ceremony. I got there just as they were taking Darian away.

  "Do you know where the grain house is?'

  Jeno grinned. "That's where we're going."

  Although the Tomai village was a small one, it seemed that Jeno led her through miles of fields and backroads before they reached a large square building that sat beside the charred remains of a barn. The building looked deserted.