Ishmael fumed, slammed the door, and stomped into the brick house.
“They’re brainless! I’ve tried nearly all of them and not a one is trainable. They’re like zebras. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
“You still have the horses,” Adiva said, her voice cold as ice as she chopped roots for their supper.
“Bah, horses. They have no horn. And they’re ugly compared to unicorns. Plus, they’re as common as rodents. Now on the other hand, if I could train the unicorns,” he said as though speaking to himself, “I could be the richest merchant in town.”
Adiva hammered the knife onto the wooden cutting board, keeping her back to her husband, her long, dark hair trailing down.
“And what’s with their hide? It heals the minute I’m not looking.” He threw up his arms, a huff escaping him. “If I could find some way to make them feel more pain, then maybe I could control them.”
Laying the roots aside, Adiva grabbed some cumin, threw it into the mortar, and ground it hard with the pestle. The scraping sound grated on Ishmael’s nerves.
She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you should try being a little gentler. They’re peaceful animals,” she said, her icy voice digging in like a knife. She ground the cumin even harder, the abrasive noise growing louder.
Ishmael turned and glared. “What do you know about training animals? You’ve never even been on a horse. If I can’t tame them, no one can. I should just turn the lot of them out. They cost too much to feed anyway!”
Ishmael threw down his coat and stormed out of the room past his small daughter, Ali, who cowered behind a chair, her brown eyes peering up at him. He had seen how the people snickered when he strolled past in town. In just a short while, he had become the laughing stock all because of those blasted unicorns. What could he do to regain the admiration of the people? He muddled it over in his brain for a while, and then swung open the door and returned to his wife.
“You know more people are settling in the town. If I could find someone dumb enough, maybe I could pawn the unicorns off on them. Then everyone would look up to me for making such a smart sale.” He laughed with scorn, wrinkling his nose.
“Or you could just be decent and let them go,” Adiva said, lifting Ali to wash the child’s face.
“Ah, what do you know?” He swept a hand, dismissing her words.
Ishmael’s chance came a few days later when a boatload of people arrived in their small town. He waited as the vessel coasted slowly toward the quay, moving rhythmically with the waves that sloshed against the banks. It thudded against the dock with a dull sound. An odd, unpleasant smell he couldn’t quite place drifted from the vessel. Craning his neck to see, he waited for the seaman to jump out and tie the boat to the deck, but the man never showed.
“What the ...” he said, reaching out to grab the rope and forming the knot himself.
He hoisted himself up on the wooden vessel, wearing his most polished smile, and peered in. It was dark inside, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. Piles of what looked like clothes lay disheveled on the floor of the boat.
Something’s wrong.
Moving closer, he jumped when one of the piles moved.
“Please help me,” whispered a man, his voice little more than a rasp.
Ishmael’s eyes fell on the black blotches of the man’s arms. Stumbling backward, he landed on the deck, his eyes wide with horror.
“It’s the plague!” he shrieked. “It’s the plague! They’re all sick!”
The townsfolk dropped everything and rushed to the dock, their voices raised in fear.
“Get rid of them now before it spreads,” screamed a woman.
“Quick before we all catch it,” shouted a shopkeeper.
The mob crowded the boat. A young farmer with bulging muscles began shoving it away from the dock while Ishmael struggled to untie it. Soon, several people joined him in pushing. The boat gave no resistance. It merely drifted away on the river, the waves lapping away in rhythm on its hull. The townspeople grew calmer as it moved from their sight.
Ishmael let out a sigh of relief and turned toward home. As he left, he nearly tripped over two wet rats who scurried across his path. “Filthy vermin!” he cursed.
Shaken by the ordeal, he scrubbed his hands and arms thoroughly with the soap Adiva made from fat and lye when he arrived home. His head ached from all the excitement.
“What’s wrong?” asked Adiva, her brows furrowed.
“A boat came in full of dying people,” he said, shaking his head with disgust. “They smelled awful and had black blotches all over their skin. I just can’t get the smell out of my nose.”
“The plague?” Adiva reeled, her eyes huge. “Did you touch them?”
“No, of course not. We just pushed them back into the river.”
“You mean you didn’t help them at all?” cried Adiva, her face a mask of shock. “You could have at least given them water.”
“No. There was nothing I could do. We’d all catch it anyway.” He shivered at the idea.
Ishmael retired to his room to rest for a while. As he lay there, his thoughts turned back to his herd of unicorns. He wondered if he could sell them as pets, but discarded the idea. Perhaps as meat? Shaking his head, he remembered the stomach sickness that struck after the fireball hit. The survivors had turned to other animals for food with undesirable results, their stomachs seizing with cramps for weeks afterward. He doubted anyone would sink their teeth into a new meat for a long time.
Two weeks later, Ali’s whimpering woke Ishmael and Adiva in the night.
“Can’t anyone get some sleep around here?” he grumbled.
Adiva rushed to the little girl and picked her up. “She’s burning up!” she cried. Groping around in the dark for her cloak, she slipped it on. “I’m going to get some water to cool her fever.”
A few hours later, Adiva awoke Ishmael, distraught, her eyes dark from lack of sleep.
“Ishmael, she’s throwing up,” she cried. “Get the healer!”
Ishmael sat up and stared in horror at his tiny three-year-old daughter. Could it be the plague? Fear seized his soul. Leaping up, he said, “No. She’ll be okay. Just keep cooling her down.” Then he slipped out.
He stayed away from the house until late that night. When he finally crept in, he shut the door with a soft thud and slept near the hearth, away from Ali.
The next morning, Adiva burst into the room, awakening him with a jolt, her face stained with tears.
“Look at her arm and legs!” She sobbed.
His eyes rounded with horror at the child’s limbs. Bruises covered the little girl’s body. It had to be the plague! Backing away, he nearly knocked over an urn, and then sidled to the door.
“I … I have to tend to the unicorns,” he said, his forehead beaded with sweat. Throwing the door open, he ran to the corral, his wife in pursuit.
“It’s the same thing those people had on the boat! You have to do something, Ishmael. Please help her!” she cried. “Go for the healer!”
“No,” he shouted, his voice shaking as he climbed over the fence. “The healer won’t be able to do anything for her.”
“Ishmael” cried Adiva, still pursuing him, the limp girl in her arms. “She’s our child.”
Ishmael stumbled away, escaping the unpleasant sound of his wife’s wailings. His heart raced.
I can’t get too close. I might catch it.
The dull thud of hooves made him turn. Ishmael watched with fascination as one of the unicorn mares sauntered to Ali and touched the child’s face with her lips.
“What on ...” he began.
She lowered her ivory horn across the dying child’s heart and held it there.
Adiva flinched and attempted to pulled the girl away.
Then Ali let out a giggle and sat up, reaching her hand to the mare’s face. “It’s so soft, Mama,” she said.
“Ishmael!” Adiva’s voice rose in pitch as she turned and stared at her husband with astonishment. “Her bruises are disappearing!” She placed her fingers on Ali’s forehead. “And the fever’s breaking.” She peeled off the child’s clothes, examining the fading splotches, and then gazed at Dorianna as though a great revelation had come to her. “It was the mare!”
Ishmael stood, his chin hanging, the whites of his eyes showing. Then his expression slowly changed to a sly smirk.
“So, the unicorns have healing powers,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “And that’s why when I whip them they get better so fast. They’ve been outsmarting me all along. I haven’t been wasting my time with these creatures after all. I’m going to be rich!”
He leapt up, flailing his arms about, his eyes mad with glee, but stopped when he noted the shock in his wife’s eyes. Reaching over, he gave Ali a brief pat on the head, then turned, his fast steps taking him toward the town.