Chapter 4 - Outcast
4
Outcast
Millandrian. The name resonated in the creature’s head as he stirred gently from his sleep. Millandrian. Millandrian. Feeling a rush of warmth at the articulation of his name, he opened his eyes. They were clear and soft in the creamy light of a fresh, full moon. He blinked a few times. The deep pools of his irises sparkled slightly blue, even in the dim of the evening. Finding his bearings, Millandrian lifted his head and gazed up at his grandfather.
Sleep, the young one protested halfheartedly. It wasn’t yet time to wake. Everyone else was asleep. Mother and Father were nestled together on the mossy forest floor, hooves curled neatly underneath their gleaming white bodies. Father’s head rested gracefully over Mother’s shoulder, lance-like horn ready to strike in case of intruders or danger. Of course, there would be no danger. There was never danger in this secluded place. This forest was protected, as was every living creature within its boundaries. The presence of six full-grown unicorns ensured that nothing impure could enter this sacred place. When Millandrian was grown, there would be seven. Seven was a very magical number.
Millandrian. The name was commanding now, a call to action. Come. The young unicorn stared up at his elder for a few moments longer, soft eyes reflecting the night’s first twinkling stars. He knew the expression on his grandfather’s face. It was inquisitive, excited, and slightly rebellious. The younger unicorn was known himself to carry that very expression a bit too much. It was the need for knowledge, curiosity and longing. It was a call to adventure. Millandrian looked over his shoulder. The grove in which they made their beds was almost completely silent, save for the deep breathing of the rest of the family.
The young unicorn didn’t have to look to know they were all there. Mother and Father were at his flank. Resting beneath a spreading elm, his mother’s parents lay side by side in a similar manner. A little further, hidden behind a large clump of ferns, he could sense his grandfather’s mate, apparently as unaware of his awakening as Millandrian’s parents would be of his own. Very quietly, the foal rose on thin, spindly legs.
The older unicorn blinked. He was very large, especially when compared to the young, wispy thing that stood in front of him. His cloven hooves were platinum gray, as were his wise eyes. He, like all the other unicorns, had a gleaming white coat. It shone in the dark as though he was himself made of moonlight. Pewter curls of silken hair adorned his fetlocks. The twisted horn that protruded from his forehead was like a spear; it was longer than those of the other unicorns. He was well-respected as the elder of the woodland, by his family and forest-dwelling creatures alike. Trying to comprehend his age was boggling even to the cleverest of minds. Millandrian did not even think of it. Though time was important to the L’corne (as travelers would speak of them), age was of little consequence. A unicorn could live forever in his sacred forest. Years, rather than marking the progression of time in one’s life, merely added knowledge and experience. No one had been here longer than the patriarch.
It was for this reason that Millandrian, the youngest of the family and firstborn of his generation, had such faith in his grandfather. While the others would stiffen and lay their ears back when Millandrian returned from a good long wander in the woods, his grandfather would gaze at him proudly, as though he understood. And he did understand. For several years now, it had been the elder unicorn that had woken him from sleep to traverse the great span of their forest. He knew the need to explore and to understand. He knew the joy of nosing through the thickest vines and walking calmly behind crystalline waterfalls. He knew precisely when and where the first snowflakes of winter would fall, and where the dens of young bear cubs were hidden. He shared it all with Millandrian. There had even been a few times when the elder unicorn had taken his sprightly grandson beyond the boundaries of the forest’s protection. Millandrian felt the pace of his heart quicken. What discoveries would tonight hold?
Quietly. Millandrian felt his grandfather’s words rather than heard them. Follow, Millandrian. The foal obeyed. With gentle movements and soft steps, the two unicorns left the sleeping place. Not a single twig or leaf was disturbed, and the five remaining unicorns slept peacefully on.
For a while, the pair walked on in silence, gazing absently at the velvety ground, the unspoiled leaves, or the darkening sky. They were radiant in the moonlight. The patriarch’s satin coat gleamed like liquid light itself, while the younger creature’s soft white pelt seemed to glow. Millandrian was, like all unicorns, beautifully formed. Even in the unsteady stance of youth, there was a strength of grace that lingered in his withers and neck. Every inch of him, from his velvety nose to his tufted whip of a tail, was whiter than snow. Even the soft cups of his ears and nostrils were lined with a creamy white membrane, rather than the pink or black of common horses. He stepped gently on split hooves that looked as though they might have been carved of ivory.
Millandrian occasionally pricked up his ears to listen to the loping beat of a rabbit hopping off somewhere in the distance, or the chirruping of an interesting insect. He even wandered off the path a few times to explore the tracks of deer. Once, he lowered his nose to a small den in the ground, only to be sniffed in return by the tiny black noses of a family of skunks. He snorted, ruffling their plush fur, then lifted his head and meandered back toward his grandfather. A few of the fluffy little bicolor kits waddled in his wake for a little while, slowly trailing off as they were distracted by their own nighttime findings. Though he showed interest in the natural world around him, Millandrian never once became startled, even when a large spotted owl took flight right in front of him. The young unicorn did not know what it meant to be afraid. He had never known-or even imagined-anything to fear.
When the two bright creatures had walked in silence for almost an hour, they both knew that it was safe to let their thoughts flow again. Though they had traveled a fair distance, Millandrian could still feel the exact presence of his mother. He knew precisely where in the forest she was, and he knew that his disappearance had not awakened her. He reached a little further into the part of himself-mind or heart, he was not sure which-that connected him to each of his family. Though his mother slept on, unaware of his whereabouts, Millandrian could feel her devotion as clearly as if it was her soft muzzle resting on his cheek. Though it was a bit softer, he could feel his father’s protectiveness like armor, and even fainter the nurturing charisma of his three older relations. Strong and almost pulsing like his own heartbeat, the company of his paternal grandfather burst forth like a mental beacon, a light that he would follow to the ends of the earth if the elder so dared to tread there.
You. The old unicorn turned his great head over his shoulder to look once more at his grandfoal. You’re a special one.
Millandrian’s eyes beamed with the compliment, though he did not understand it. He stamped one small hoof. We are all.
The grandfather’s right ear twitched gently. He blinked deeply and paused in his stride, waiting for the thin little unicorn to catch up. Yes, we are. Millandrian stopped at his shoulder, leaning slightly into him. The elder watched him fondly. But not like you.
Special. Millandrian mulled the word-or more, the inflection of the thought-over in his head. It meant different. Unusual. By nature, his kind was unusual; so unusual that the young unicorn had never met another of his species outside his own family. But, if he understood properly, the old one meant that he was unusual even for a unicorn. Special.
Marked, the patriarch replied, starting to walk slowly again. He was venturing off the grassy path made by generations of gentle, cloven hooves. Millandrian followed him, still curious.
Marked? He threw his little head around several times, glancing at his snow-furred sides. I am white.
Not that kind, the elder thought, the breath of a whinnied laugh in his throat. It is hard to see.
Can Mother? Millandrian trotted at the elder’s side, skipping deftly over branches and moss-covered rocks. The adult walked slowly to keep pace.
No. The unicorn’s ears moved forward for a moment. There were several deer in a clearing somewhere up ahead. They were drinking at a stream. He directed one ear back again, listening to the gentle, light steps of his youngest kin. You mother cannot. Your father cannot.
Why can you? Millandrian was listening for the deer as well. He sniffed at the air. He thought it might be a stag and a yearling deer.
Millandrian’s grandfather lifted his muzzle upward, gazing into the star-peppered sky through gently swaying leaves. I look very closely. He nuzzled Millandrian’s forehead affectionately, brushing aside his pure white forelock. The small ivory bud of a horn was growing there, between a twisted swirl of fine white hairs.
Millandrian once again flashed the galaxy-rich eyes in his grandfather’s direction, then peered forward again. They had reached the brink of the clearing. As he stepped into the thick grass of the glade, Millandrian’s soft white coat glowed brightly in the moonlight, illuminating a wide halo around him. He had been correct about the sounds and scent. Two white-tailed deer lifted slender heads to softly regard them. One had a thick tree of antlers, and the other had only short spikes protruding from between his ears. Sensing the elder’s permission, Millandrian broke into an awkward canter, prancing around the younger of the deer.
Play, he thought at the deer, despite knowing that the creature could not understand that language. It did seem to understand his stance, however, and began trotting around after him, throwing its head wildly.
The elder unicorn moved slowly into the glade. He watched the slender animals frolic for a few moments knowingly. From appearance, they might be friends. To an outsider, they could almost be distant relatives. There was a difference, though, which the young unicorn was just starting to understand. A unicorn was, in a way, an animal. The little single-horned foal in the clearing looked like an animal, and could decipher scent, sound and delicate body language like an animal. The young deer, though, with which Millandrian played so delightedly, was by no means similar to his new companion. A unicorn was something more, and something in itself. Even at this young age, the young unicorn contained intelligence beyond men. When he was older, he would be a match for nearly any elven sage in wisdom and discernment.
Regardless, there was the wildness of the animal ingrained deep in the unicorn’s very bones. Even the elder unicorn could feel it. It was this wildness, this untamed instinct, which kept leading him away, outside. The irrational enthusiasm that he felt when venturing beyond the mundane and the ordinary ran hot in his veins. It pulled at his heart.
As he watched the two younglings splash wildly in a forest pool, the old unicorn felt something else pull at his heart. No, it pulled deeper. It seemed to grasp the very part of him that was connected to Millandrian and the rest of his small family. It asked to share that connection. It begged him to find its source.
Millandrian chased the young fawn through the shallows of the pool. The droplets of water sparkled like scattered gems in the air. In a surprise twist and stamp of his front feet, the young deer turned the chase on Millandrian, who made an abrupt squeak of a whinny and stamped off in the opposite direction, the lean animal hot on his heels.
The elder unicorn watched the fawn and foal dance through the shallow water. They disappeared into the thicker trees for a moment, then emerged in a burst of leaves, Millandrian acting the pursuer once again. Millandrian would be fine here. There was nothing in the forest that could put him in danger. Besides, it would only take a few moments. A few moments to discover what it was, what ensnared his senses-it wasn’t only his psyche anymore. He could smell something sweet and alluring. It was a familiar scent, and one that he wasn’t going to let get away. Not this time.
Millandrian stamped his forefeet violently and happily, sending up a spray of clean, cool water. It landed on his shoulders and face and glistened there. It felt wonderful. The young deer stood just out of splashing range, panting heavily from the vitality of the romp. His gentle eyes were wide and excited. Breathing deep breaths of the crisp air, Millandrian shook off the water, a funny rippling movement that started from his head, traveled down his back, and ended with a toss of his short tail. He waited to catch his breath, wondering if the deer would like to have another go after they had both rested.
But the deer was no longer watching him. It had turned its head toward the stag and was eyeing him intently. It grunted a little, almost as if it were asking a question of its parent. The stag stood quite still, his eyes wide and bulbous. His ears stood erect and his body did not move. Only his shiny black nose quivered. The deer seemed to be focusing on something in the distance.
Millandrian watched the two deer. Was this a new game? He stilled himself and calmed his breathing. The water still rocked against his wet hocks. No sooner had the ripples stilled around the edges of the pool than both deer shot off into the forest, scattering dirt into the air. Their small hooves left deep grooves in the moist dirt. Millandrian tilted his head, listening. Was he meant to follow? He glanced sheepishly around the clearing, looking to his grandfather for guidance. The elder unicorn was nowhere to be seen. He must have continued on while the younger one had been playing foolishly in the pond. Millandrian stepped out of the water, his hooves wet and slick, speckled with bits of rich, dark mud. His grandfather’s disappearance did not greatly concern him. He had wandered the outer regions of the forest many times alone. Millandrian started to walk in the direction the deer had gone. A few branches of the leafy undergrowth were still swinging, but the stag and fawn were nowhere to be seen. It would be better to find his grandfather; there would be other creatures to meet, and other places to see.
The foal’s eyes were covered briefly by long, white lashes as he reached out for his grandfather. He could sense his kin. Five were still resting in the sleeping place. One-the one he was looking for-was nearby. Millandrian’s slow, tender footsteps began again, leading him without thought in the direction that the stars fell. The invisible tie that lashed him unfailingly to his grandfather was pulling him in that direction. The older unicorn was there, and-Millandrian felt a rush of empathic joy-he was very happy. What had he found out in the forest’s edge? Was it something that would make Millandrian happy too?
The young unicorn tossed his head, and tendrils of baby-soft white hair fell on alternating sides of his elegant neck. Whatever had drawn his grandfather was drawing him too. He felt a strong sense of jubilation in his chest. This must be something worth finding indeed. He let the happiness wash over him, leading him closer to his grandfather as he ducked through a dense thicket. With each step, the feeling grew stronger, until he knew he was quite far away from the center of the forest. He could only barely feel the presence of his family, sleeping peacefully in the night.
The sharp joy that he had originally felt was melting. It transformed slowly into a sense of peace and calm, even restfulness. The foal’s eyelids drooped over the deep pools of his eyes once again. He was starting to feel incredibly sleepy and warm. What could be making the elder feel this way?
As the joy faded into a peaceful, deep-breathing oblivion, Millandrian could pay more attention to the world around him. The trees were thinning. He must be very close to the western edge of the forest. It was a dangerous place, yes, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had ventured outside the forest before. If his grandfather was there, then he would be safe. Millandrian knew this to be true. He believed it whole-heartedly and without question.
Now Millandrian could hear the distant ocean beating against the cliffs. It was a beautiful, rhythmic sound, but it was a little disconcerting nonetheless. Nothing in the forest was loud like the ocean. With the sound came the smell of salt and the feel of wet air in his nostrils. Mingled with it was the warm, familiar scent of his grandfather. He was very close now.
Millandrian broke through the edge of the forest, and it was though he had entered another world. The inky sky seemed to go on forever over the cliffs and against the tumultuous waves of the ocean below. The grass was thick and tall and clusters of it thrashed like mad dancers in the whipping wind. There was a cluster of thick, jagged rocks that formed a wall against one of the cliff’s edges. It was there that he saw exactly what had drawn his grandfather from the forest.
She was a beautiful girl. She was a beautiful human girl, dressed rather poorly in tattered, dull-colored clothing. Her long honey-colored hair was tangled and tousled by the wind, but her cheeks were bright and flushed. She was sitting on one of the smallest of the rocks, and her bare toes were dipped in the sea of tall grass. And there, looking more peaceful, more subdued, and tamer than he had ever been, was the elder unicorn.
His head rested in the girl’s lap and his eyes were closed. He appeared to be asleep, kneeling on his forelegs. Though his pewter mane whipped in the wind, he seemed as calm and restful as a baby. The only indication that this beast was a wild creature remained in the long, slender horn that jutted out fiercely from the waving tornado of his forelock, its sharp point nearly higher than the girl’s head.
Millandrian watched the girl, unsure if he should intrude. Her delicate, thin hand rested lightly over his grandfather’s well-muscled neck. He felt something incredible and indescribable. He knew why the elder unicorn had gone to the girl, and why he was so submissive to her. Millandrian wanted to do the same. He saw something in the strange human creature. Rather, he sensed something in her that was so very like himself. She was pure. She was wholly and completely pure and innocent. If he had understood the word “vulnerable,” it would have come to his head. It would have described her, as well as the snowy colt and the helplessly entranced unicorn in her possession.
Millandrian stood very still. His left ear was filled with the sound of whirring, buzzing and chirping insects from the forest. His right was battered by the sound of waves beating against the cliff face.
It was while Millandrian was watching the picturesque scene that something slight changed. It was the maiden’s face. Some vaguely familiar expression crossed it, making the young unicorn suddenly nervous. It might have been sorrow, or perhaps merely uncertainty. Whatever it was, it made the young unicorn shiver very violently. He took a step backward, closer to the protection of the forest. Something was not right. Six unicorns slept peacefully in his heart, but something was telling him they should be alert and ready to run. He tried hard to make his mental presence stronger. Why didn’t they realize something was wrong?
The men came from behind the mighty, jagged rocks. They were upon the elder unicorn like lions on a weakened gazelle. Heavy chains flashed in the dark, first around the snowy flank, then around the chest and neck. The unicorn threw his head up, now awake. The girl jumped from the rock and backed away, clasping her thin hands together. There was a fierce struggle while the chains were tightened and more were added, around the elder unicorn’s hocks and across his shoulders. In tightening the thick metal across the strong head, the group of men was able to lower the unicorn to the ground.
Millandrian’s heart pounded. He did not know fear, but he knew a feeling now that was almost equally strange to him. He knew that he should help free the aged unicorn, but he did not know how. He knew that the men’s intentions were bad, but he did not know what they might do that could hurt a creature as strong and perpetual as a unicorn. There was a strange tingling feeling that coursed through his veins, telling him he should run, to turn back to the enchanted forest that could keep him safe from harm. He did not move, though. There was something stronger and more illogical that told him that it wasn’t right to leave sight of his grandfather.
The big unicorn breathed heavily, his one visible eye rolling frantically. It caught Millandrian’s gaze, and the unicorn’s breathing stopped.
Millandrian!
The feel of his own name pierced the young unicorn once more. He saw a thick, heavy blade flash in the moonlight. It met the base of the spiral, silvery-white horn with a vicious, echoing crack.
There was barely a heartbeat of silence, then a shriek like nothing Millandrian had ever heard. He staggered as the unicorn’s dying scream met his soft ears. The girl staggered too. When his deep eyes fell upon the maiden’s face, he felt new and terrible knowledge wash over him. For the first time in his life, he understood guilt. The girl had lured his grandfather to this place! The girl had taken him from his forest, and worst of all, the girl had known the hunters were there, lying in wait for the right time to ambush. Millandrian stumbled backwards once more. The sound was piercing and painful. It ripped him, starting at his eardrums and continuing through his mind, his heart, and his soul. It ripped at the part of him that connected to his family and his forest. It made him shake all over.
Another sickening hack and the horn was cleaved away from the unicorn’s head. The long, white legs twitched feebly, then stopped. There was a whump as the young girl fell to the ground, as still as the elder unicorn’s desecrated body. Millandrian felt pain like he had never felt before in all his life. He stared at the hornless body of his grandfather, not seeing the smiling, whooping men as they cheered for the horn the blade-wielder held aloft. He no longer heard the insects from the forest or the water from the sea. He only heard the memory of the unicorn’s cry as it rang incessantly in his head. Millandrian shook violently, unstoppably, from head to tail. The patriarch was dead. He knew this not because he was staring at his grandfather’s lifeless body, but because he no longer felt the reassuring presence in his very core, the presence that had been there since the day he was born. He could feel the others, faintly, waking in a panic. Now they knew something was wrong. Now they knew, but it was too late. Why hadn’t they known earlier? Why hadn’t they felt that something wasn’t right?
The young unicorn felt broken and incomplete. What was more, new emotions were blazing in him like wildfire. Anger was one of them. He felt the anger rise in his chest and burn in his skull. He had been cheated. He had been cheated by everyone - the hunters, the maiden, even his family and his now dead grandfather. There were obligations that each was supposed to fulfill, and now everything was a mess because they had gone about things wrong. He wanted them all to feel as shattered as he felt. He wanted them to hurt.
The anger fought to take control of his body, but was beaten by mental and physical pain, which was in turn overcome by a sense of terrible confusion. The men’s voices began to fall on his ears once more as the ghostly scream faded from his mind. The tingling in his limbs returned. It called for him to do the only thing he could think to do.
Millandrian turned and ran along the cliff face. He ran fast and hard until he could feel nothing but fatigue. The men’s voices died away, and the emotions of his distant family became faint and indiscernible. Exhausted and broken, Millandrian staggered to a halt and collapsed on the thick, sea-scented turf. Sleep overtook him like a merciful killer, and for the first time in his life, the young unicorn felt nothing.