Chapter 6 - Transformation

[dreamingstory]

The sun beamed down on the small white form, but it did not bring much warmth. When Millandrian’s mind first started to wake, he fought it. He did not want to open his eyes. He did not want to think about the lingering tragedy that he knew awaited him. Here, on the brink between asleep and awake, he couldn’t quite remember what it was. He only recalled that it was a terrible, horrible thing, and he was not ready to face it.

He hovered in half-consciousness as long as he could, but eventually the brightness of the sunlight brought him to full awareness. He remembered clearly. He remembered the unicorn’s scream and the shame in the girl’s face. The elder unicorn was dead. Dark emotions flooded him once again as he opened deep blue eyes to a world of cheerful color. Why wasn’t it raining? Why wasn’t the sky as grey as his heart felt? Millandrian watched a ladybug traversing a blade of grass in front of his face. It wasn’t right. Nothing was right.

The emptiness in his soul had not yet faded away. It ached there, deep in his chest, stronger than ever. Would it ever go away? The little unicorn doubted it. For a moment he thought that he might die there, unmoving on the grassy cliff’s edge. He hurt enough to die. But then there was the anger. The harlot! How could she have done this to such a pure and wonderful creature? Had she been bribed? And what amount of gold could be worth the death of a unicorn? Millandrian snorted and leapt to his feet. The dark feeling seemed to give him strength. Cold energy coursed through his legs. He needed to be active, to do something. He needed to return to his family. He shook himself off, swishing his tail as though to flick away the pain. It didn’t work. One small step after another, Millandrian began to make his way back to the edge of the forest.

The lithe white creature walked gingerly across the sweet-smelling grass. Reaching out with the fingers of his soul, he felt for his family. Five spirits hovered within the forest. Strangely, he found that he could not sense where. He only knew that they were safe. Millandrian felt a sharp pang in the place where his grandfather’s spirit had been. He was gone forever. He would never come back. He knew this as simply as he knew he could not hush the singing of the birds in the trees. They seemed to mock him. Millandrian walked with his head low. He only wanted to be with the remaining members of his family.

His small cloven hooves felt heavier with each step. This puzzled him. He was not tired. Regardless, he could not will himself to move any faster. By the time he had reached the second tree on the outskirts of the forest, his pace had slowed almost to a stop. Tossing his head angrily, he willed his front legs to move. He could lift them, stamp them, and even paw at the ground with them. Regardless, he could move no further into the depths of the protected forest.

Millandrian reared up on his hind legs and brought his forefeet down as hard as he could. They left deep prints in the soil. The anger rose in his chest again and he felt his head spin. Something was stopping him from entering the wood. He turned angrily and bolted toward the edge of the grassy precipice, turning sharply just as he reached it. He ran back toward the wood at full speed, kicking up bits of dirt and grass. No sooner had he reached the very boundary of the forest that something invisible and irresistible made him turn away. It was as though a mysterious, untouchable wall had been put up around the forest. Millandrian tried in another place, and then another. This was his forest. He knew it was his forest. Why couldn’t he enter?
After several more minutes of trying, Millandrian stood pacing at the forest’s edge. One of the new emotions seemed to be caught in his throat. It filled him with dread. Why couldn’t he get back in? What if the wall never opened? His heartbeat quickened. Once again, this was not right. He had come and gone from the forest’s boundaries a handful of times. What could be blocking him out now? Had the enchantment lifted with his grandfather’s death? Perhaps the forest was not safe anymore.

Millandrian gazed into the forest. It was too dark inside to see very far. Mother and Father would know what to do. He reached out with his feelings and tugged at the connection that held his psyche close to his family. He could hardly feel them. All that he could really, clearly sense was a jumble of pain and disorientation. He had the feeling that they were restless, and that they were walking the forest. Perhaps they were even looking for him. Millandrian shook his head, causing his soft white forelock to almost completely cover the little white horn. That wasn’t right. They wouldn’t need to look for him. They would already know where he was. Mother and father, as well as the older unicorns, would know precisely where he was without even thinking. Why, then, hadn’t they come to him?

Find me, Millandrian pleaded, hoping his family would sense his request. He felt their attention, ever so faint. It seemed that he was very far away from them. He could barely perceive them, somewhere out there in the protected forest.

I’m here. Millandrian’s ears perked up, even though it was not sound that had reached him. He glanced around him. The thought felt so close. It was his mother, he knew, but he wasn’t sure how she had connected with him so strongly. Her warm spirit seemed miles away. How far had he run last night?

A rustle from within the forest caused him to start. He backed away from the forest’s edge, narrowing his eyes to see deeper into the darkness. There, just within the shadows of the trees, he could see her. His lovely mother, graceful in all the ways he was, was standing there, looking at him with deep, dark eyes. She looked an odd shade of grayish green in the leafy shade.

Millandrian stepped toward her again, feeling uncertainty again. If she was so close, why could he hardly feel her presence? She still felt very far away. Her pain flickered in and out of the young unicorn’s consciousness. He could only barely feel her love and devotion.

For a moment, Millandrian doubted what he saw. His mother didn’t feel right. She felt so distant. If she was standing so close to him, why could he not sense her joy at finding her only son? Why, though she stood there, staring hard into his eyes, could he not feel the immaterial tether that spanned their very souls?

Millandrian took a deep, wary breath. That was when he smelled her. There was no scent in the world like his mother’s. It was warm like apple spice and fresh like blossoms all at once. Nothing could mimic that. Nothing could fool a mother’s own son. The creature that stood before him, shadowed in the protection of the forest, was most certainly his mother; yet, her spirit, her feelings…all these felt far away, barely perceptible. It was a time for another first in Millandrian’s life. This time, it was the looming knowledge that something was wrong with him. He felt as though he was deaf or blind, yet his ears and eyes worked perfectly.

My child. The words came distinct and clear again, unnervingly. Was it because she was pushing the thoughts hard at him?

Mother! Millandrian couldn’t help the explosion of want that burst from him. He wanted to be there, in the forest, at her side. He wanted to be protected and safe. He did not feel safe.

Millandrian leapt at the invisible wall, only to be thrown back like the wrong end of a magnet. Undeterred, he rose again and swung his front hooves upward, pawing furiously at the solidified air. There was no sound, only the feel of the force pushing him away from her. Going into a mad rage, Millandrian slammed his shoulder into it, then lowered his head and rushed forward like a battering ram. For a moment he thought he had broken through, but he was thrown back to the ground once again. A splitting pain ran from the tip of his small single horn all the way through his head and down his spine. As though the force of the wall wasn’t enough! The pain seemed to solidify in his bones. It was the same pain that he felt when the patriarch’s horn was broken from his body. It was that aching, grinding pain. He breathed heavily while it hovered in his skull, then pulled himself to his feet once again.

Millandrian’s mother was still watching him. There was a deep, pitying sadness in her eyes. Millandrian hated himself for only seeing it, and not feeling it as he should have. What was blocking his senses? Was it the same thing that barred him unyieldingly from the protected forest?

No, the warm, sad voice echoed again in his head. It seemed to ease the pain a little, at the same time bringing another kind of ache. This time, it was in his heart. He understood perfectly well what the simple inflection meant. He could not return.

Why? Millandrian’s deep blue eyes were growing wider, bluer than ever in the light of the golden sun.

You are no longer an innocent. His mother’s eyes seemed slightly wetter than usual. She looked at him, helpless. He knew without trying that she felt just as crushed as he did. Only an innocent may enter this forest.

Millandrian’s heart pounded and his head ached more in trying to understand. It was the longest, most articulated string of thought he had ever received. He mulled the thoughts over in his mind, feeling out their shapes and textures. No longer. It had happened when his grandfather had died. He wasn’t the one who had lost his horn! Millandrian whinnied a little. It sounded like a puppy’s whine.

Grandfather, you mean. Millandrian worked hard to project the thought. It was so hard communicating without the aid of feelings. Not me!

The reply came simple and clear. You, Millandrian. The sadness was there in her eyes, yet she did nothing. She did not run to her son and nuzzle his face. She did not lower her head. She did not shatter the invisible wall. She simply stood, looking. Perhaps it wasn’t sadness at all. Perhaps she felt nothing for him. Perhaps the expression on her face was, in reality, the absence of any feeling at all.

Millandrian felt the rage build in his chest once more. No! He pushed the feeling with all his might at her. He forced pure denial in her direction. No! Why? He stomped and tore at the ground beneath his feet. He kicked and spun and shook his mane wildly. Why? Why? Cold fire burned in the foal’s eyes. WHY?

That is why. Millandrian stopped kicking and panted, staring at his mother’s solemn face. He understood. He had lost control. He lowered his head shamefully, looking at the destruction around him. Reddish-brown clods of dirt showed through the ripped turf like wounds through fur. His thin legs were trembling and smeared with the clay-rich mud. It was the emotions. It was the disconnection. It was everything that had happened on the cliff face, with his grandfather and the maiden and the huntsmen. Something had happened to him there. It wasn’t just that he felt broken; he truly was broken.

The small, slender unicorn stood, truly frightened for the very first time. He could not return to the forest. And he could no longer maintain the connection with his family. He was no longer an innocent. Seeing his grandfather’s tragic death had sealed the poor young unicorn’s fate. He stood, shaking and afraid, hoping there was a way out. It was a feeble wish. He knew now, without a doubt, that he would no longer be granted entry into the enchanted forest. He knew that the pain that he had felt when he was abruptly cut off from his grandfather was the same pain that his mother (and possibly his entire family) was enduring this very moment.

Please. He knew it would not change anything, but Millandrian felt himself flooded with the incredible desire to be accepted again, to be invited to return. It was the only thing he could think of to do. He pleaded with his eyes, his heart and his very soul. The adult unicorn lowered her white head and turned it away from her son. Millandrian could no longer see her eyes.

Go, Millandrian. The command slashed through him like a hot knife. He watched, shattered, as his mother slowly began to walk away from him, back into the depths of the now unattainable forest. The sounds and movement behind her betrayed what the young unicorn had feared: His entire family, his mother, father, and their surviving parents, had watched him. And they were all walking away. There was no chance that any could fix him, could repair the damage done by what he had seen. It was impossible. Millandrian, the youngest of the forest unicorns, had been stripped of his innocence and purity. Some vital part of him had died with his grandfather.

The lanky foal felt his heart breaking as his family disappeared into the forest. With them went the knowledge of their existence, one by one. It was unlike the jolt he had felt when the elder unicorn died. This was a strange, creeping anguish that faded in as each of the older unicorns faded from his very soul. His mother was the last to cut the link. Loneliness, another new experience, overcame his subconscious. He stared numbly at the trees for a very long time.

When Millandrian moved again, he felt stiff all over. His bony legs moved slowly and his hooves dragged a little on the ground as he walked. He did not know where he was going, but it felt better to move than to stare into the green depths of the unicorns’ forest. The place that had seemed once so welcoming and secure now had a darker look to it. It was forbidding and almost a little threatening. How had he not seen it before.

Millandrian tossed his tail half-heartedly. He asked himself too many questions. They were questions that he could not answer. There was no point in wondering anymore. For a while, the little white foal meandered around the edge of the forest. He was aimless in his wandering; he knew that he could not cross its boundaries. Part of him was afraid that, even if he did manage to penetrate the enchantment, his family would run him out again. He did not belong there.

After several hours that felt like days, Millandrian began to wander away from the forest. It hurt too much to even look at it, think about it, and stand idly on its edge. He found himself wandering the cliffs, straying occasionally close to its edge to look at the balmy sea below. It rocked restlessly. He took comfort in the ocean’s suggested empathy. He saw no men as he strayed across the grassy plains. Some smaller animals took note of him, but unlike those within the forest, they darted off as soon as they acknowledged the creature’s presence. Millandrian didn’t care. He wanted to be alone anyway. Eventually, the cliffs melted away into the landscape and he began to see small cottages dotting the lush ground below. He skirted them carefully. He did not want to be seen.

As he neared a beautiful blue bay, Millandrian began to observe clusters of the same rock cottages, and soon he realized he was looking upon a fishing village. He felt curiosity awaken within him, and he welcomed it like a friend. He changed his course so that he would enter the small town. No sooner had he reached the fringe, however, when he was given quite a shock. A group of plainly clothed boys caught sight of him as he followed a dirt road that led to the city. At first they approached him gently, welcomingly. Millandrian followed them with his ears, wondering if they would play as the fawn in the forest had. However, when one lunged at him with a rope of twisted seaweed, the white colt knew their true intentions. He bucked at them, just for good measure, and ran away as fast as he could. They followed for a little while, but a boy on two legs is no match for a boy on four. Millandrian only stopped to look at them with disgust when they were as small as ants in the distance.

After his first encounter with the villagers, Millandrian knew that he could not be seen as he was. He didn’t know for sure if the boys had known he was a unicorn, or had only seen a stray horse that could be captured and sold. Regardless, he decided that he must find a way to disguise himself. For a while, he considered invisibility. He had never seen it done, but he had heard it was possible. He found a secluded grotto in the base of a moderate cliff and began to practice something he had only ever heard tales of unicorns accomplishing. He began to change himself.

The desperate unicorn spent the remaining day’s hours practicing the change. All unicorns were gifted with a special magic, and he knew this. He also knew for a fact that all unicorns were self-taught. The abilities of any of his species depended only on focus and practice. So, he focused very hard on making himself completely invisible. At first, Millandrian felt as though he was getting somewhere. He watched his hooves lighten and become translucent through slit eyes. However, when his head ached with the concentration and he had achieved no further aptitude in making himself disappear, Millandrian decided to take another approach. There had to be an easier way to blend in. He thought of covering the stub of his horn with his mane and acting as an average horse child, but quickly abandoned the thought. He was growing, and he wouldn’t always be able to hide the distinguishing mark of his kind.

It was simple, he told himself. He would just have to learn to be human. If he could walk among men, he would not be chased or hunted. He would not be seen as a prize or a walking pile of gold; he could blend in just as easily as if he was invisible. As the sun set over the ocean, Millandrian began to adjust his form. He kept the image of the boys he had evaded in his head as he willed his body to shift and reshape. At first, he found it very difficult to focus on all of his different parts. As soon as he could configure himself into a reasonably humanoid form, he began to change back and forth. It made a delightful sound, like that of shifting sands. Every time he morphed into a more human appearance, he found some small detail that he had neglected before, like the retention of cloven feet or a fluffy tail.

By the time the moon had risen high in the sky, Millandrian was exhausted and quite happy with his human form. He felt his new, strange face with slender, pale fingers. It was soft and unfamiliar. He could not see it, but he felt as though it was right. He was tall and slim, and his new, bare skin looked surprisingly dark to eyes so accustomed to his previous milky shade.

Millandrian shivered with excitement. This work, this change…it had distracted and comforted him at the same time. It felt wonderful to be doing something of his own accord. He had a feeling that the transformation had come too easy to him, as though his body had already wanted to be human. There were a few tiny details that he knew he would have forgotten, like the little crescent moon shapes at the base of his fingernails. They were there, though, as was every tendon and muscle. His hair was much like it was in unicorn form, only confined to his head and shoulder length. It was white as snow. Feeling something missing, Millandrian’s smooth fingertips moved slowly to his forehead. The horn was gone. His forehead felt smooth and unmarred. He wondered if he was tall for a man, or short; he wondered if he was attractive. He could not see himself, though, save for a blurry, momentary reflection in the water outside his cave. It looked proportional and correct. Trembling a little, standing naked in the cool night air, Millandrian softly thanked whatever merciful force of nature that made his metamorphosis possible. Exhausted and weirdly euphoric, the unicorn slept in his human form that night, curled awkwardly on the uneven rock floor of the hidden grotto.

He woke many times that night, each time feeling worse than ever. He found that he was very cold without the warm bodies of his parents next to him. What was worse, he felt incredibly sore, though whether it was from the physical stress of changing himself or the limitations of his new body, he was not sure. He felt frail and less sturdy. His new, pale skin was soft and sensitive, and his bones didn’t seem to line up the right way, no matter how he twisted and turned on the firm stone that made his bed.

Millandrian opened his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time since he had laid down to rest. The sky was lighter, and pale pink rays of sunlight were reaching over the edge of the watery horizon. He pushed himself upright on one arm. It was awkward. His neck hurt dully, as well as the joints of his hips. What was more, a new pain had started to throb deep in his abdomen. It wasn’t terrible, but it made him uncomfortable. It was unfamiliar. He knew that he could make it go away if he tried. He just wasn’t sure how.

The unicorn-turned-boy stepped gingerly out of the rock hole into the warm liquid light of the morning. The waves had edged closer to the mouth of the cave while Millandrian had slept. He gazed down at the water. His throat felt very dry. Remembering how the forest animals would go to the lakes and streams to drink, Millandrian knelt by it, making an awkward bowl with his hands. It took several tries, but he managed to get a good mouthful to his lips. It tasted horrible. He spat it back out, wondering why. Although a unicorn did not need to drink, Millandrian had sometimes sipped cool stream water with the deer and foxes of his home. It had been cool and almost sweet-tasting. This wretched stuff was salty and burned his throat. It didn’t even quench his thirst.

Millandrian kicked at the water angrily, and then recoiled as cold water splashed up all around him. Water from the sea was not good for drinking. With the lesson still stinging at the edges of his tongue, Millandrian considered his position. He had never needed such simple sustenance as a unicorn, but it made sense that the change would have brought new sensations and vulnerabilities with it. If he was going to look like a human, he was going to have to drink like a human.

The boy jumped, losing his train of thought, at a low, gurgling sound somewhere nearby. He swung his head around him, white hair swinging around his shoulders. It took him a few moments to realize that the sound was coming from his stomach. It didn’t take long for the boy to make the connection between the pain in his stomach and his new need for sustenance. Millandrian readied himself for entrance into the human world, glancing at his backside to make sure he hadn’t left the tail on again, and then began the short walk to the village.

As he approached the nearest small cottage, he could hear the sounds of pots clanging inside. It must be time for a morning meal. He could smell wonderful smells coming from the cottage. Houses all around the bay seemed active and awake, but no one was walking the streets. Millandrian watched shadows fall on dusty windowpanes, hoping that his own appearance would be similar. He had yet to see his reflection properly.

As he hopped up to the front door of the cottage, he could hear voices inside. A man and a woman lived there, and a younger person too. Perhaps they would spare him food. As he reached for the doorknob, however, Millandrian felt nervous. What if he was chased away again? He knew very little about humans. He had only ever seen a few. Although he had heard of their goodness and kindness, he didn’t fully believe it. After the traitorous girl on the cliff top and her chain-wielding friends, as well as the rowdy village boys, the young unicorn was beginning to have serious trust issues. Feeling too afraid to open the door, he turned and walked softly away. Perhaps there would have to be another way to find food.

A soft lowing sound reached his ears from somewhere on the left. There was a large building with open windows, much like a house, settled a little ways behind the cottage. There didn’t seem to be people in there, at least by sound. Curiosity rising in him again, Millandrian went to investigate.

It was a large barn. On one side, a cow stood tethered to a post, pawing at a battered metal pail that rolled roughly over the dirt floor at her feet. On the other, three horses were contained in straw-lined stalls. Millandrian’s heart lifted. For a moment, he saw familiar faces; the faces of friends and family. However, the feeling faded away. They were dull-colored and hornless. Their faces were wider, larger and less intelligent than a unicorn’s. Regardless, Millandrian went to them and gently touched their soft noses. They seemed pleased at his company.

Millandrian looked cautiously around the barn. It was empty, save for the animals. This place would be safe from prying eyes. His stomach growled, louder than ever. The sorrel horse closest to him snorted and tossed its head. These creatures, the cow and the horses, had to eat too. Perhaps there was food nearby.

The boy stood on a wooden rail and peered over into the mare’s stall. She was munching loudly from a trough hanging from the stall door. Millandrian hopped over deftly, and then tumbled onto the soft straw. He was getting rather good at getting around on two legs, but he still had a few things to learn. The mare nosed at his face and snorted, mussing the child’s soft white hair. He laughed, and the sound surprised him. What a wonderful noise! He made a mental note to do it again sometime.

When he peeked into the trough, Millandrian found a wide assortment of things that looked like food. First, he tried chewing on a long piece of hay. It smelled wonderful, but it didn’t taste very good. A few minutes of gnawing and Millandrian knew that this was not the kind of food that a human could eat. He ducked under the bewildered mare’s head and saw an assortment of grains. After nibbling on a few, he found he rather liked the sweet molasses glaze that covered the mixture. However, there were only a few pieces that he could eat.

The boy was chewing a sunflower seed when he noticed the flash of red, half-hidden under the clean straw. He picked it up and found it was a fruit with juicy white insides. He took a bite. It was incredible. It didn’t take him long after that to scramble up into the hayloft, where he found a barrel full of the sweet, hard fruit. He ate until he could eat no more, and then crawled sleepily back down into the sorrel mare’s stall. He coaxed the gentle beast to lay down, then curled against her hot side. Comforted by the smell of horses, hay, and sweet apples, Millandrian closed his eyes and dozed happily