By saramyriad❦
The news was bad.
Thomil hadn’t expected it to be cheery, but the healer’s stern face was enough to take the slight wind of hope from Thomil’s sails.
Deep down, he wasn’t surprised. His son Luc had been too sick lately to take in anything but sips of water. Thomil’s normally hale and hearty son was pale and shook rattingly when he breathed. It felt like ages since he’d played outside or begged to ride Rosie Pony.
“And you’re sure nothing can be done? There’s nothing for it in any of your ways?”
The healer’s stern face softened a fraction. “I am sorry to tell this to you. You are a good man and I know your wife was lost only a couple harvests back.”
“No mention of her,” Thomil said, pushing his own thoughts away from the deep ache of Marybella that sat permanently in his chest.
“I can give your boy something that will help with the pain and soothe his nights. No more. I am sorry, Thomil.”
“And how long?—“
“Days, perhaps a couple of weeks. No more than that.”
Merl was waiting for him in their usual spot with fresh pints. Thomil grabbed his with a grunt of thanks and took a deep pull.
“How’s Luc?” Merl asked.
“More of the same,” Thomil said, looking into his drink. His reflection stared back at him, dark circles under its eyes. “Healer said it was the wasting sickness. They’re giving him a tincture to help with the pain of it in his lungs.”
Merl let out a breath. “Shit and fire, Thomil. My sympathies. You know…” he trailed off. There was a commotion. The two men glanced at the door to the tavern.
“Now, Mother,” one of the beer runners was saying soothingly. He was only a handful of years older than Luc, but tall and strapping. Thomil recognized him but couldn’t place his parents. “You know this is no place for a lady.”
“Don’t tell me where I can and can’t go, my money’s as good here as anywhere and I’m cold.”
“What’s going on here?” That was Boris, the owner, pushing his way from the back. “There better be a good reason for this ruckus before the dinner bell’s even rung. His beard was black and bushy, but Thomil didn’t need to see his mouth to know it frowned at the sight of Mother Hen.
“I was telling your boy I want to come in out the cold,” she said, pulling herself up to her unimpressive height. “I’m hungry. I won’t cause no fuss. I won’t drink none.”
Boris hesitated, clearly torn. Thomil had known him for years, as long as he’d known Merl, and the tavern master wasn’t a cruel man. He knew Mother’s story same as the rest of them, and as a father himself, he understood. As well as any of them could.
“Come into the kitchen then, Mother,” he said to the woman. “Daisy will have pulled some pies out of the oven for supper and I’ll make sure you have extra gravy.”
Mother Hen patted the side of her dirty tunic. “I have money.”
“Daisy will worry about that. Come on,” Boris said. Mother Hen let the big man take her arm gently and steer her into the back.
“Think she’ll keep to her word and not drink?” Merl asked.
“If Daisy is back there, yes. She hides the beer.”
Merl shrugged. “It’s a shame, what happened to her.”
He turned his gaze back on Thomil. “I was saying, if you need help with your harvest this year, I can have Sam come by. He’d be glad to.”
“That’s kind of you,” Thomil said. “But not needed. Luc’s going to get better. I’m sure of it.”
“You’re going to attempt to get the Miracle,” Merl said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, and why not? I have the right.”
“No offense meant, brother,” said Merl. “It’s just that the unicorn only selects one of us, and so many try to get it.”
“And the unicorn only appears once every decade,” Thomil said impatiently. He downed the rest of his drink. “I grew up here too. I know the way of it. The unicorn has to pick my boy. What else is going on more serious than that?”
Merl tapped the side of his pint thoughtfully. “I agree with you, but none of us know what that beast thinks. Still, I hope you get it.”
“Thanks,” Thomil said. Merl’s face had been sympathetic through their talk, which was bad enough, but at the mention of the unicorn, his expression had crossed into something like pity. That was more than Thomil could bear. He waved off his friend’s suggestion of a second round and took his leave.
❦
Merl was right. There was always a big turnout of village folk trying to be selected for the Miracle. By Thomil’s estimation, a quarter of the village had shown up. More than some years. Less than others. Too much for his liking.
Thomil cast his eyes over them. There was the farmer, Sutton. He’d no doubt come since a blight had taken out half his viable crops. Bad luck, everyone said. And he relied more on his bounty than Thomil, who mostly grew for himself and his family. Or had, before his wife died and Luc….. Thomil shook his head of the bad thoughts. Sutton had plenty of children. He had neighbors who had offered to help. He would be fine.
There was also Ru, a thin matchstick of a girl. She must be there for her lover. A lover that had been conspicuously absent the last few weeks. Thomil didn’t know the boy personally; he’d been one of those traveling merchants that came through periodically with exotic wares and tales of further places. Thomil didn’t bother with the merchants usually. Ru had been smitten. There had been whispers that her belly was going to swell soon.
Thomil wondered if even a unicorn could bring back a wayward beau and decided he didn’t care one way or the other. Ru wasn’t going to get the Miracle anyway. It was a close village. Some might turn up their nose, but not all.
These people, all here for something they don’t really need, Thomil thought to himself. Selfish.
“How will we know if the unicorn chooses us?” Ru whispered to the woman next to her.
“It’ll show up to your window the night after, I hear,” her companion replied.
“So we won’t know right away.”
“No. It’s like a private thing, between the unicorn and the person.”
Thomil let his thoughts drift while the two women chattered by him. Who had been the last person to get the Miracle? Thomil had never actually tried for the Miracle before, but being in this village, you couldn’t help but know about it. He seemed to recall that ten years ago, a man named Eric had gotten the Miracle and moved his family to one of those big cities. They’d been successful. Or still were. Eric didn’t exactly write back to anyone.
“It’s here!” Ru hissed. “Oh, it’s here!”
And it was. A shimmer seemed to coalesce at the tree line, then the unicorn stepping into the field.
It wasn’t like anything they showed in picture books. Those unicorns were beautiful white horses with lush manes and horns pasted on their foreheads. This unicorn’s horn wasn’t pasted on. It erupted, violent and unashamed, from between its eyes. So long it seemed impossible for the slender head and neck to carry. The unicorn’s eyes were huge and brown and cow-like in their depth, with their thick eyelashes, but its head was finely formed and reminded Thomil of a deer. Its neck was something of the equine, though longer and more delicately muscled. Its hooves were cloven, softly lilac. The mane alone its back that tapered into a tail with a tuft was the same soft color, and erratic.
Looking at it made your head hurt. It was beautiful, in a wild way, but it was so against common knowledge it felt wrong to find it beautiful.
It observed them, silently. None of the village folk moved. The unicorn took a tentative step forward. Its nose sniffed the air.
As it drew closer, Thomil saw it was also smaller than he’d thought it would be. It was no taller than Rosie Pony. Was this really a unicorn? This was the hope he was pinning his boy’s life on?
It had to be. There was no other option. The healer had made that plain enough.
The unicorn stopped in front of all of them in turn, observing. When it got to Thomil, he stared into its eyes. They weren’t just brown, he realized. They were a swirling color; brown and purple and blue. As though the unicorn held its own sky.
Pick me, you weird, strange beast, he silently pleaded the unicorn. Pick me for the miracle. No one else needs it like I do. Luc is my boy. My only child. Please.
The unicorn didn’t react. It simply continued down the line. Some people spoke to it softly. A few had tears in their eyes. The unicorn merely watched them.
When the unicorn had reached the last person, it turned and walked back to the forest, its long, tufted tail flicking.
Then it was gone, as though it had melted into the trees.
The villagers began to mutter.
“Is that normally how it goes?”
“No idea, this is my first time, but my Nan—“
“I think it looked at me!”
“It looked at everyone, you donkey.”
“I mean really looked at me!”
Thomil kept quiet while the others chattered around him. He let out a shaky breath. The fact the unicorn gave no outward signs to any of the other villagers didn’t soothe him.
❦
Thomil couldn’t sleep that night. He gazed out the window. The moon was nearly full, casting its silvery light onto the grass. It looked cool and peaceful. He wished he could bottle some of it and apply it to Luc’s forehead for the fever.
Luc turned fitfully in his sleep and Thomil stroked his sweat-dampened hair. He’d already given the boy a treatment from the healer, but the effects seemed modest. Far less than Thomil would have hoped.
“Come on, you stupid beast,” he whispered to the night air. “Who else could you have picked?”
As if summoned, the unicorn emerged from the trees.
Thomil blinked stupidly. He’d been floating between a shaky confidence and a backdrop of impending dashed hopes. Seeing the unicorn was so wholly expected and yet unexpected that it took him a moment to react.
“You came.”
The unicorn inclined its head. It didn’t speak, but the message was clear.
Bring the boy outside.
Thomil carefully bundled Luc into the boy’s favorite blanket. Despite his earlier musings, it was chilly outside this time of year, and Luc didn’t need that on top of everything else.
Although….since the unicorn was here, didn’t that mean he’d been chosen? Did he even need to worry about the chill on his boy?
The unicorn stood solemnly on the grass as Thomil walked outside. Luc was cradled in his arms.
“Please, unicorn,” Thomil said. “Help him.”
The unicorn sniffed at Luc, then sighed softly. Its breath smelled like wildflowers. Luc smiled slightly in his sleep.
The unicorn took a few steps back and pawed at the ground with a delicate hoof.
“You want me to put him down?” Thomil asked it.
It nodded and pawed the ground again.
Thomil obeyed.
The unicorn walked around Luc several times. It raised its fine, strange head to the moon. The giant horn on its head gleamed like the inside of a seashell and its eyes looked especially large. Thomil could see the moon reflected in them.
Then it pointed that great horn at Luc. Thomil felt a wave of fear and nearly stepped forward to push the unicorn away, but stopped. Light was starting to emanate from the horn. The very tip of it touched Luc, over his heart. The unicorn was so gentle the boy didn’t even stir.
Slowly, the light from the horn began to envelope Luc’s small body like a second blanket. Luc stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at the unicorn, which hadn’t moved. He looked at Thomil.
“Father?” his voice sounded very small.
“It’s alright, Luc,” Thomil said. “This is going to make you feel better.”
“It feels warm,” the boy said, smiling. The light around him grew brighter.
“Luc?” Thomil asked. The light was more than white: it shifted lilac and blue and pink.
“Papa,” Luc said in wonder. “It’s so pretty.”
The light suddenly shot out in all directions, its own canopy of shooting stars. Thomil instinctively bent his body over that of his son.
When Thomil glanced up, tendrils of light still danced around his vision. He saw a second unicorn standing next to the first.
It was smaller than its companion; there was a coltish lankiness to its limbs. Under the moonlight, its coat and hooves glowed a gentle blue.
Thomil looked down at Luc. He blinked his dazzled eyes, so full of aftersparks he couldn’t see his boy against the dark ground. “Luc, do you see?”
Luc didn’t answer. Thomil shook his head and gradually the night came back into focus.
His son was gone. The blanket was empty.
He sank to his knees and dove his hands into the fabric, as though Luc had shrunk and might be waiting for his father in the folds.
But there was nothing. Not even a stray hair.
“What is this? You picked me, unicorn! You were supposed to give me a miracle! What have you done?!”
The unicorn shifted on its hooves impatiently. Then it bobbed its head once in the direction of the smaller unicorn.
“I don’t understand,” Thomil said, though he thought maybe he did. How badly he wished he didn’t.
The smaller unicorn took a tentative step forward. It sniffed the air around Thomil. Up close, he could see the blue in its mane wasn’t just due to moonlight.
“That was Luc’s favor color. Blue,” he said to the smaller unicorn. Tears began to form in his eyes. “Luc?”
He reached out a hand to touch the unicorn, to touch Luc, his beautiful, brilliant boy. The smaller unicorn snorted and reared back slightly away from his touch. Then it turned and bolted into the trees.
Thomil shot to his feet. “Luc! Come back! It’s me! It’s Papa!” His voice sounded plaintive in the still night air.
The first unicorn hadn’t moved. It regarded Thomil.
He rounded on it. “I wanted you to save him, not turn him into one of you!”
The unicorn twitched one ear, keeping its eyes on Thomil. Its gaze was deep as fathoms.
Thomil covered his eyes and made a moaning sound. “Luc, oh Gods. Luc, I didn’t know.” He swayed in place, crying silently. When he uncovered his eyes again, the first unicorn was gone.
A branch snapped and Thomil’s gaze sharpened. Had his boy come back?
But no. It was a person coming through the trees to his little home.
Mother Hen. She looked at Thomil keenly. Whatever her proclivities, she was not drunk tonight.
“Mother? What are you doing here?” Thomil asked.
“They did the same to my daughter,” said Mother Hen, swaying slightly. “The same they done to your boy.”
Thomil shuddered. “You saw?”
The old woman nodded. “I always try to witness when the unicorn comes. Ever since my girl was taken.”
“I thought….”
“The ones who thought they knew what happened have moved on. I’ve been here decades, Thomil,” Mother Hen said. “Long enough for people to forget. Not me. My girl was sick, too. Dying. I got the Miracle that year.”
“And she was—“ Thomil cleared his throat. “Turned?”
“Yes. I think the unicorn tries to be kind. My daughter’s favorite color was pink. She was a beautiful unicorn.”
“She didn’t stay with you.”
“No. But I saw her one more time after that.” Mother Hen’s face was wistful. “She stood at the edge of my garden, her head peering over the rosebushes, and I could tell she knew me.”
“Why didn’t she stay?” Thomil asked for himself as much as her.
“Unicorns don’t like to share territory. And we already have a unicorn.”
“If I had known this would be his fate. I—“
“Would you have let him die?” Mother’s gaze was sharp. “Just because he couldn’t stay with you as he was?”
Thomil let out a breath. He stayed silent for some moments, looking at the moon and stars. His boy was out there somewhere, running under that same sky. Maybe that was enough.
“Would you like to come in for tea?” He asked Mother Hen. “While we drink it, tell me more about what you know of unicorns.”
THE END
Author’s Note: I’d taken a month-long break from drafting the first three novellas in my current series, in order to return to the story and characters with fresh eyes. While on my break, I found the urge to write was still scratching at the back of my mind.
I couldn’t get the image of a father desperate to save his child out of my head, but being me, I also thought, “What if the way to save his son was eerie and not what he’d imagined? Thus, The Miracle was born. I had a lot of fun, both in writing it and in meeting my personal challenge of making it less than 3K words.