A week had passed since Corabelle and Aunt Agatha had begun their journey in search of the red unicorn. At first, they followed the narrow animal trails close to home on the off chance the distraught creature chose to remain near its sire, but after days of finding no evidence of him, they moved deeper into the woods. When they had descended the trail down to the canyon, they examined the ground near the river where Gideon had found the unicorn's body.
“Interesting,” said Aunt Agatha, “You can see the indentation where it lay, but not much in the way of tracks.”
“Maybe the men's footprints rubbed them out,” suggested Corabelle.
“Perhaps,” said Aunt Agatha, circling the depression in the ground. “Every animal leaves a trail, but it's almost as though its tracks just disappear.”
“They say there weren't any leading to the village either,” offered Corabelle, “only a few where he stood.”
“No wonder Uncle Rupert thinks it's a demon unicorn,” said Aunt Agatha, her voice strangely quiet.
A shiver ran down Corabelle’s spine at Aunt Agatha’s tone. “But I saw it leap higher than a deer before it left the village. Maybe it hopped down from the top of the canyon to the river, and back.” Her eyes moved to the rock wall, searching for a possible route. “But I wonder how. That cliff looks pretty steep.”
Aunt Agatha studied the bluff. “Even if we find a trail, it might be too narrow for us to climb.”
“I sure hope not.”
They picked up their gear and headed north, their eyes scanning the wall for slender trails forged by goats and other animals. The sun had grown warm, so Corabelle removed her cloak and tied it around her waist. After a few hours, her stomach rumbled. Slowing her pace, she said, “This canyon seems to go on forever. Why don't we have lunch?”
“That’s a good idea. We can tackle it again with a fresh mind and a full stomach.”
Relieved, Corabelle untied her cloak and spread it on the ground.
Aunt Agatha pulled out their jerky, dried fruit, and what was left of their stale bread while Corabelle refilled their flasks with river water. They sat down, chewing the last of the dry bread slowly while Phineas pecked at the seeds Corabelle scattered for him.
“We'll have to start collecting roots and nuts again,” said Aunt Agatha after a few bites.
“For medicine?” Corabelle frowned. “Here?”
“No. To eat. Our supplies are getting low. There'll be a lot more food up top, but if we can't find a route, we may have to head home.”
Corabelle’s stomach lurched at the thought. “But if we go home, they might not let us come back to find Red.”
“Red?” Her great-aunt's lips turned up into an amused smile. “You've named him Red?”
Corabelle gave a sheepish grin. “Well, that's what he is, isn't he?”
“I guess so,” the old lady said, a raspy chuckle escaping her lips.
They finished their meal in silence, then hoisted their packs and resumed their hike at the base of the cliff, searching for the miracle trail that would lead them up the formidable canyon wall.
After a few hours, Corabelle stopped and threw down her pack. “It's no use. It could take days before we find a way up to the top…if we ever find it.”
Aunt Agatha sat down beside her, panting. “If only we were birds, eh? It'd be so much easier.”
Corabelle's mouth formed an O as she drew in a sharp breath. “Aunt Agatha, that's it. Why didn't we think of that before?” She looked over her shoulder to where the whiskey jack perched above them on a spruce branch. “Phineas,” she called, holding her arm out. “Come here.”
The bird fluttered down and landed on her wrist.
She stroked his soft head. “Can you help us find a path that humans can take to the top?”
Phineas tilted his head from side to side, let out a peep, then leapt, his wings batting the air as he rose higher and higher. He flew past the ridge, then glided back, combing the sides of the canyon, occasionally alighting on boulders only to leap again, drifting farther and farther away.
Corabelle shaded her eyes as she watched him disappear in the distance. “I guess we might as well stay put until he gets back.”
“In the meantime, let's gather roots and other edibles—to use our time well,” suggested Aunt Agatha.
“Good idea.”
By the time Phineas returned, dusk had fallen, and the sky had changed to a deep blue.
Aunt Agatha and Corabelle were busy placing the last branches on the sticks of the lean-to that would keep them warm and dry throughout the night.
When Corabelle saw the bird's silhouette against the night sky, she ran to meet him.
Phineas fluttered his wings, tweeting as he lowered himself until his claws gripped her arm.
“What did you find?” she asked, hopeful.
Phineas chirped.
“Really?”
The bird let out a peep.
Corabelle turned to Aunt Agatha, bursting with excitement. “He says he found a deer trail that goes all the way up.”
Aunt Agatha clapped her hands together. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought for sure we'd have to turn back. How far is it from here?”
“About a half-day's walk.”
“Hmm, that’s about how long it would take us to get home,” said Agatha, calculating. “Perfect.”
They finished setting up the shelter and climbed in, huddling close together, their two blankets shared between them. Corabelle's stomach gave a loud growl. The roots they'd found while waiting for Phineas hadn't been enough to fill her. Perhaps tomorrow they'd have more success foraging for food.
When Corabelle awoke the next morning, wispy pink and blue clouds lit up the sky—the ideal day for climbing the cliff. After sharing a brief breakfast of licorice root, sorrel, and jerky, they heaved their packs and set out to find the path, Phineas leading the way.
The whiskey jack flew short distances, perching on boulders or branches until they caught up, then hopping away again. When the sun set high above them in the sky, he finally stopped.
“This must be it,” said Corabelle.
Aunt Agatha shaded her eyes. “But where?”
They walked to where the tan bird stood on a small ledge of rock, waiting patiently.
“I don't see a trail,” said Corabelle, her courage draining.
“Hold on,” Aunt Agatha said, staring up at the wall. “I think I do.” She took a few steps past the bird…and disappeared.
Her heart filled with hope, Corabelle broke into a run to where her aunt had vanished. Peering in, she found a small alcove in the wall that led to a very narrow trail. Her eyes tracing the path, she spotted Aunt Agatha already making her way up, clinging to the wall of the canyon.
“Aunt Agatha, that looks dangerous. Be careful.”
“Not to worry. It gets wider farther on,” the old lady called back. “I can see it from here.”
“Wait for me, then.”
Her heart pumping, Corabelle started up the path, clinging to the cliff with clawed fingers, sometimes leaning back to skirt around large outcroppings, other times nearly losing her grip. When she caught up to her aunt, she bent over, breathing hard before looking ahead. Then she smiled with relief. The trail was wider.
“I suspect we're going to have to hoist ourselves up that ledge when we get to the top.”
“But what if we can't?” asked Corabelle, her voice edged with worry.
“Never mind if we can or can't. We have no choice. We have to try or go back home and face Rupert.”
Onward, they pushed up the steep trail, their breath heaving. They paused from time to time to swig water from their flasks, careful never to look down for fear of losing their nerve. By the time they neared the top of the cliff, the sun had lowered in the sky.
“Almost there,” said Aunt Agatha, her muscles straining.
Corabelle eyed the summit, her heart sinking. She wasn't sure she had any energy left to pull herself up such a tall ledge, especially not on an empty stomach.
“If you can give me a leg up, I should be able to scale this,” said Aunt Agatha when they arrived. “After that, I'll throw you the rope, and I can pull you up.”
“Sure,” said Corabelle, linking her fingers together to make the requested step for Aunt Agatha's foot.
Phineas flew to the crest of the ledge and danced frantically.
Corabelle paused. “What's wrong, Phineas?”
The bird twittered and cheeped in distress.
Corabelle took in a sharp breath. “He says not to climb here. He says we'll fall for sure. There's a much safer route over there.” She pointed to loose stone.
“But that's scree,” said Aunt Agatha. “We could just as easily slide down the cliff there too. Now give me that leg up.”
Again, Phineas chirped and tweeted, his wings flapping wildly.
“No,” said Corabelle. “He insists. Just wait here. I'll go see.” She crawled along the ledge to where the distraught bird hopped. “He's right,” she called back. “There are some excellent footholds here right where the scree ends, but you can't see them from where you're standing.”
It was Corabelle's turn to lead the way up the steep rocks, placing her feet in strategic positions until she cleared the top. When she’d made it, she inspected the route Aunt Agatha had nearly taken and gasped.
“What’s wrong?” asked the old lady.
“We would have slid down to our death on that smooth rock,” Corabelle said.
“Thank goodness for Phineas.”
As expected, the other side of the canyon was rich with nuts and roots. After gathering their bounty in Corabelle's cloak, they sat down to eat, filling their stomachs to near bursting. Then they built their shelter for the night and bedded down.
When they rose again, the next morning, they gorged themselves once more on the nuts and roots before heading out.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Corabelle as she eyed an unusual, elf-like tree whose branches resembled arms and legs.
“Seems to me, the easiest thing would be to follow one of these deer trails,” said Aunt Agatha.
“Let’s do it.” Corabelle picked her cloak off the ground and buttoned it around her neck.
They followed the path, pushing through wet branches and tall grass. After walking an hour, Corabelle let out a cry of dismay. “Hey,” she said, “Haven't we already been here? I remember that same tree from before.”
“What?” Aunt Agatha turned around, her shoulders dropping. “Oh, no. Don't tell me we went in a circle?”
Corabelle threw up her arms and let out a disparaged wail. “What kind of deer go in circles?”
“Foolish ones,” said Aunt Agatha.
“So what do we do now?” asked Corabelle.
“Call Phineas.”
Corabelle cupped her hands and whistled for the bird.
It fluttered down and perched on Corabelle’s shoulder. After a few exchanges of twitters, cheeps, and words, he took off, flying high above the trees while she and Aunt Agatha waited with patience in the shade of a tall pine.
A familiar scent tickled Corabelle’s nose. “Smells like smoke,” she said.
Aunt Agatha’s nose twitched. “Hmm, maybe there's another village close by.”
“Another village?” Corabelle welcomed the thought of spending the night in a warm straw bed after a hot supper.
“You never know. Just because the town hasn't made contact past the canyon,” said Aunt Agatha, “it doesn't mean we're alone in these parts. Maybe we'll be the first to meet them.”
Corabelle's lips formed a smile as she imagined returning to their village and announcing they'd found neighbours a few days walk from there. The town would be thrilled, and they’d see her and Aunt Agatha as heroines.
Two hours later, the bird returned.
“What did you find?” Corabelle asked Phineas.
The whiskey jack flapped his wings and twittered in an agitated manner.
As Corabelle listened, her mouth dropped, and her eyes widened.
“What is he saying?” asked Aunt Agatha, fear rising in her voice.
“A wildfire! Far from here, but growing faster by the minute.”
“A wildfire?”
“Yes.” She turned back to Phineas. “Which way were the animals running?”
Phineas chirped again.
“That way.” She pointed.
“That means the wind is blowing the fire in that direction. So, for the time being, we're safe—so long as the wind cooperates. I say we stay here until we know for sure.”
Corabelle nodded.
“In the meantime, let's set up camp.” Aunt Agatha began to search for branches while Corabelle gathered the leaves necessary for the roof.
When all was ready, they settled down for the night.
Before crawling under her blanket, Corabelle glanced up at Phineas. “You'll wake us if there are any changes, won't you, Phin?”
The bird gave a worried twitter, then stuck his head under his wing to sleep.