Droplets of sweat beaded Drachen’s forehead as he approached the isolated cottage on the edge of town where the old woman lived.
“Wonder if she’ll remember me after all this time?”
Many years had passed since it happened. He remembered the feel of the smooth gold pieces as he slipped his cracked and dirty hand into the soft folds of the merchant’s pocket. His heart had beaten so hard he was sure it could be heard. Taking utmost care, he had grasped the pieces ever so gently, and then slid them out, triumphant and unnoticed … until she cried out in that commanding voice she possessed, her deep brown eyes accusing.
“Thief!”
The crowd had burst into action. Bodies turned and arms reached.
Terrified, Drachen broke into a run, dodging through the market place, past tall piles of fruit and displays of rough cloths and leathers. He squeezed through narrow alleys between weathered brick buildings, and ducked behind carts while angry men gave chase, their feet beating the ground. His heart pounded. If he could only reach home, there was a chance he could hide. Taking a sharp left turn, he fled through another alley and gauged his distance. It was still too far.
Fast footsteps echoed behind him; approaching, shouting. New men joined in the chase, now from two directions. Drachen leapt up a set of stairs, his lungs on fire. When he reached the top, he looked back. They were gaining on him.
Desperate and exhausted, he took the only option he could and sprang from the stairs onto the next street. His body twisted as he slammed into the thick brick wall of a building. For a brief moment, he was stunned, half-awake and half-dreaming, and then, slowly, the sounds and the reality of his plight came back to him. Something warm trickled down his face. Touching his hand to his cheek, he drew in his breath. Blood!
Despite his stupor, Drachen forced himself up, but the crowd was too fast. Strong arms grabbed him and held him down until the merchant arrived and yanked him up by his threadbare clothes, shoving him against the wall, his fist aimed at the boy’s chest.
His head throbbing and his eyes nearly blind from fright, the boy yelped and squirmed as he dangled in the merchant’s grasp. The rough surface of the bricks stung his back. “Stop!” he cried, his scratchy adolescent voice pleading. “I’ll give ’em back. Just stop!”
The merchant’s fist halted in mid-air. He dropped the boy to the ground while the other men formed a barrier around him making his escape impossible.
“Alright, then. Hand it over!”
Tears burning his eyes, Drachen opened his grimy hand and handed over the gold pieces.
The merchant tucked them back in his cloak, giving a final lecture to the boy. Then he turned to the men and thanked them. They set out on their way, leaving Drachen in the street, bleeding and crying. No one had bothered to ask if he was okay.
Drachen traced the scar on his face. It hadn’t been fair. Why shouldn’t an old man give some gold to a hungry boy? After all, what were a few pieces compared to the merchant’s thousands? He swallowed down the lump that dared form in his throat at the memory.
The cottage was close now. He tightened the reins, slowing the mare’s pace, fighting the dread inside.
“She can’t possibly remember me. She’s an old woman now.”
He wiped the sweat on his neck and urged the mare on until the short trail that led to her home was in sight. Dismounting, he tied the horse to a low branch and took tentative steps up the path.
The door creaked open a crack revealing the suspicious eyes of a tiny woman whose silver hair fell in a straight line to her shoulders.
“What is it you want, Drachen?” Ali asked, her voice icy.
A chill swept over him – she remembered.
He forced himself to stand his full manly height. “I wanna know ’bout the unicorns.”
She eyed him for a full minute, and then replied, “Why?”
Drachen searched for a lie, but instead revealed the truth. “’Cause I think I might’a seen one.”
Her eyes grew wide, and the door creaked opened further. “Where?”
“In my holding pen. They broke through the brush. There were three of ’em – a stallion and two colts. They took off when they saw me comin’ back from town.”
Ali stared, her mouth gaping. A small smile crept to her face. “So they’ve survived all these years.” Her eyes took on a dreamlike quality as memories of long ago stirred. “I don’t believe it.” She moved aside, letting him pass. “You must come in and tell me.”
Walking to the fire pit, she poured scalding water over dried tea leaves. She placed a plate of warm, unleavened bread on the table and motioned him to sit down.
“Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice anxious, but guarded.
Drachen recounted what he had seen while she listened, her eyes seeming to measure his every word, shaking her head from time to time.
“I wasn’t too sure ’cause I only saw the stallion for a few moments, but when I went and had a look, there were no white birch branches anywhere, and there were these hoof prints.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “They’re too small to be a horse’s.”
Ali clasped her hands together, her eyes hopeful. “At least there were some tracks. You know that a unicorn can travel leaving no traces.”
Drachen raised his brows with great interest and leaned in a little closer. “Oh, really?”
She nodded.
He carefully formed his next question in his mind to lure her into his plan, but before he could ask, she blurted out, “So what is it you want?”
Coldness crept up his skin. He paused a moment, contemplating, and then answered truthfully, “I wanna catch one.”
Ali gasped. With one move, she shot up, upsetting the tea. “No!” she shouted. “You must leave them be!” She grabbed the remainder of the bread in her gnarled hands and slipped it away from his reach. “I simply won’t hear of it.”
“Why not?” Drachen asked.
Ali turned and faced him, her dark eyes penetrating. “Because they were nearly annihilated by my father.”
Drachen was stunned. So the stories were true. “But it’s only one –” he said.
“No!” She shook her head, her lips turning white. “The gold will blind you. It’ll start out as one unicorn, but then soon you’ll search for more and more just as my father did.”
Drachen frowned, and then risked another question. “What did he do?”
Ali’s eyes darkened. “He murdered the Great Stallion for his horn.” She turned away, blinking back tears.
“The Great Stallion’s horn?” His voice rose with interest, a small sinister smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “And where’s the horn now?”
“Only my mother Adiva knows. She concealed it after my father died, and it shall remain so until a need arises like the great plague of sixty years ago.”
“So she’s still alive?” he asked.
“Yes. She’s eighty-three years old now.” Her eyes flashed as though challenging him to even think of approaching the old woman.
For a moment, Drachen shrunk under her glare, until a proposal came to mind. “Maybe we can make a deal …”
Her actions were swift as she shoved him to the door. “Drachen, I had hoped you had changed, but it’s obvious you never took heed of your mother’s last words. It’s time for you to leave. Night’s falling.” Her voice had regained its coldness.
“But …”
Knowing his defeat, Drachen gave little resistance. His face burned from her scathing words. He turned, throwing a final glance at the one person who had the knowledge to make him rich, and then slipped into the growing darkness of night to plot his plan.