The Black Unicorn (13 page)

He finished his meager dinner and was still brooding over the turn of events that had brought him to this sorry state when he saw the cat.

The cat was sitting at the edge of the clearing, perhaps a dozen feet or so away, watching him. Ben had no idea how long the cat had been there. He hadn’t seen it until now, but it was keeping perfectly still, so it might have been occupying that same spot for some time. The cat’s eyes gleamed emerald in the moonlight. Its coat was silver-gray except for black paws, face, and tail. It was a slender, delicate thing—seemingly out of place in the forest wild. It had the look of a strayed house pet.

“Hello, cat,” Ben ventured with a wry smile.

“Hello, yourself,” the cat replied.

Ben stared, certain that he must not have heard correctly.
Had the cat spoken? He straightened. “Did you say something?” he asked cautiously.

The cat’s gleaming eyes blinked once and fixed on him, but the cat said nothing. Ben waited a few moments, then leaned back again on his elbows. It wasn’t as if it were surprising to imagine that the cat
might
have said something, he told himself. After all, the dragon Strabo spoke; and if a dragon could speak, why not a cat?

“Too bad you can’t talk,” he muttered, thinking it would be nice to share his misery with someone.

The night brought a chill with it, and he shivered briefly in the rough work clothes. He wished he had a blanket or a fire to help ward off the damp; or better, that he were back in his own bed at the castle.

He glanced over again at the cat. The cat hadn’t moved. It simply sat there, staring back at him. Ben frowned. The cat’s steady gaze was a bit unnerving. What was a cat doing out here in the woods alone like this anyway? Didn’t it have a home? The emerald eyes gleamed brightly. They were sharp and insistent. Ben shifted his own gaze to the shadowed woods. He wondered again how he was going to find Willow. He would need help from the River Master and he hadn’t the foggiest idea as to how he would convince that being of his true identity. His fingers brushed the tarnished medallion that hung about his neck, tracing the outline of Meeks. The medallion certainly wouldn’t be of any help.

“Maybe the River Master’s magic will help him recognize me,” he thought aloud.

“I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you,” someone replied.

He started and looked quickly in the direction of the speaker. There was no one there but the cat.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “I heard you that time!” he snapped, irritated enough that he didn’t care how foolish he sounded. “You
can
speak, can’t you?”

The cat blinked and answered. “I can when it pleases me.”

Ben fought to regain his composure. “I see. Well, you might at least have the courtesy to announce the fact instead of playing games with people.”

“Courtesy has nothing to do with the matter, High Lord Ben Holiday. Playing games is a way of life with cats. We tease, we taunt, and we do exactly as we please, not as others would have us do. Playing games is an integral part of our personae. Those who wish to have any sort of relationship with us must expect as much. They must understand that participation in our games is necessary if they wish communication on any level.”

Ben stared at the cat. “How do you know who I am?” he asked finally.

“Who else would you be but who you are?” the cat replied.

Ben had to stop and think that one through a minute. “Well, no one,” he said finally. “But how is it that
you
can recognize me when no one else can? Don’t I look like someone else to you?”

The cat lifted one dainty paw and washed it lovingly. “Who you look like counts for little with me,” the cat said. “Appearances are deceiving, and who you look like might not be who you really are. I never rely on appearances. Cats can appear as they choose. Cats are masters of deception and masters of an art cannot be deceived by anyone. I see you for who you really are, not who you appear to be. I have no idea if how you appear just now is how you really are.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“Whatever you say. I do know that however you might appear, you are in any case Ben Holiday, High Lord of Landover.”

Ben was silent a moment, trying to decide just what it was he was dealing with here, wondering where on earth this creature had come from.

“So you know who I am in spite of the magic that disguises me?” he concluded. “The magic doesn’t fool you?”

The cat studied him a moment, then cocked its head, reflecting. “The magic wouldn’t fool you either, if you didn’t let it.”

Ben frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Much and little. Deception is mostly a game we play with ourselves.”

The conversation was turning a bit oblique. Ben sat back wearily. “Who are you, Mr. Cat?” he asked.

The cat stood up and came forward a few feet, then sat back down again, prim and sleek. “I am a great many things, my dear High Lord. I am what you see and what you don’t. I am real and imagined. I am something from the life you have known and something from dreams of life you have not yet enjoyed. I am quite an anomaly, really.”

“Very insightful,” Ben grunted. “Could you be a bit more precise, perhaps?”

The cat blinked. “Certainly. Watch this.”

The cat shimmered suddenly in the dark, glowing as if radioactive, and the sleek body seemed to alter shape. Ben squinted until his eyes closed, then looked again. The cat had grown. It was four times the size it had been, and it was no longer just a cat. It had assumed a slightly human face beneath cat’s ears, whiskers, nose and fur, and its paws had become fingers. It swished its tail expectantly as it stared at him.

Ben started half-a-dozen questions and gave up. “You must be a fairy creature,” he said finally.

The cat grinned—an almost-human grin. “Exactly so! Very well reasoned, High Lord!”

“Thank you so much. Would you mind awfully telling me what sort of fairy creature you are?”

“What sort? Well, um … hmmmmm. I am a prism cat.”

“And what is that?”

The grin disappeared. “Oh, I don’t think I can explain it—not even if I wanted to, which I really don’t. It wouldn’t help you to know anyway, High Lord. You wouldn’t understand, being human. I will tell you this. I am a very old and very rare sort of cat. I am but one of just a few still remaining. We were always a select breed and did not propagate the species in the manner of common animals. It is that way with fairy creatures—you have been told this, haven’t you? No? Well, it is that way. Prism cats are rare. We must spread ourselves quite thin to accomplish our purposes.”

“And what purpose is it that you are trying to accomplish here?” Ben asked, still trying to make some sense out of all the verbiage.

The cat flicked its tail idly. “That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Oh you. On your … intrinsic self-worth.”

Ben stared at the cat wordlessly. Things were becoming a bit too muddled for him to stay with this conversation. He had been assaulted in his own home and bounced out like a stranger. He had lost his identity. He had lost his friends. He was cold and he was hungry. He felt as if any intrinsic self-worth he might possess rated just about zero.

The cat stirred slightly. “I am deciding whether or not I shall be your companion for a time,” the creature announced.

Ben grinned faintly. “My companion?”

“Yes. You certainly need one. You don’t see yourself to be who you really are. Neither does anyone else, apparently, save for me. This intrigues me. I may decide to stay with you long enough to see how it all turns out for you.”

Ben was incredulous. “Well, I’ll say one thing for you. You’re a different sort—whether cat, human, fairy, or whatever. But maybe you’d better think twice about
sticking with me. You might be letting yourself in for more than you can handle.”

“Oh, I rather doubt that,” the cat replied. “I seldom encounter anything that difficult these days.”

“Is that so?” Ben’s patience slipped a notch. This cat was insufferable! He hunched closer to the prim creature. “Well, try this on for size, Mr. Cat. What if I were to tell you that there is a wizard named Meeks who has stolen my identity, my throne, and my life and consigned me to exile in my own land? What if I were to tell you that I intend to get all of that back from him, but that to do so I need to find a sylph who in turn searches for a black unicorn? And what if I were to tell you that there is every chance that I—and anyone brash enough to offer to help me in this endeavor—will be disposed of most unpleasantly if found out?”

The cat said nothing. It simply sat there as if considering. Ben leaned back, both satisfied and disgusted with himself. Sure, he could congratulate himself for having laid all of his cards on the table and setting the cat straight. But he had also just destroyed the one chance he might have had of finding someone to help him. You can’t have it both ways, he admonished himself.

But the cat seemed unperturbed. “Cats are not easily discouraged once they have decided on something, you know. Cats are quite independent in their behavioral patterns and cannot be cajoled or frightened. I fail to see why you bother trying such tactics with me, High Lord.”

Ben sighed. “I apologize. I just thought you ought to know how matters stand.”

The cat stood up and arched its back. “I know exactly how matters stand. You are the one who is deceived. But deception needs only to be recognized to be banished. You have that in common with the black unicorn, I think.”

Once more, Ben was surprised. He frowned. “You
know of the black unicorn? There really is such a creature?”

The cat looked disgusted. “You search for it, don’t you?”

“For the sylph more than the unicorn,” Ben answered hastily. “She had a dream of the creature and of a bridle of spun gold that would hold it; she left to search for both.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “The dream of the unicorn was sent by the wizard. He sent other dreams as well—to me and to Questor Thews, another wizard, his half-brother. I think that in some way the dreams are all tied together. I am afraid that Willow—the sylph—is in danger. If I can reach her before the wizard Meeks …”

“Certainly, certainly,” the cat interrupted rather rudely. There was a bored look on its face. It sat down again. “It appears I had better come with you. Wizards and black unicorns are nothing to be fooling about with.”

“I agree,” Ben said. “But you don’t appear to be any better equipped than I to do what needs to be done. Besides, this isn’t your problem. It’s mine. I don’t think I would feel comfortable risking your life as well as my own.”

The cat sneezed. “Such a noble expression of concern!” Ben could have sworn he caught a hint of sarcasm, but the cat’s face revealed nothing. The cat circled briefly and sat down again. “What cat is not better equipped than
any
human to do
anything
that needs to be done? Besides, why do you persist in thinking of me as simply a cat?”

Ben shrugged. “Are you something more?”

The cat looked at him for a long time, then began to wash. It licked and worried its fur until it had groomed itself to its satisfaction. All the while, Ben sat watching. When the cat was at last content, it faced him once more. “You are not listening to me, my dear High Lord. It is no wonder that you have lost yourself or that you have become someone other than who you wish to be. It is no
wonder that no one but I can recognize you. I begin to question if you are worth my time.”

Ben’s ears burned at the rebuke, but he said nothing. The cat blinked. “It is cold here in the woods; there is a chill in the air. I prefer the comfort of a hearth and fire. Would you like a fire, High Lord?”

Ben nodded. “I’d love one—but I don’t have the tools.”

The cat stood and stretched. “Exactly. But I do, you see. Watch.”

The cat began to glow again, just as it had before, and its shape within the glow grew indistinct. Then suddenly there was a crystalline glimmer, and the flesh and blood creature of a moment earlier disappeared completely and was replaced by something that looked as if it were a large glass figurine. The figurine still retained the appearance of a cat with human features, but it moved as if liquid. Emerald eyes blazed out of a clear body in which moonlight reflected and refracted off mirrored surfaces that shifted like tiny plates of glass. Then the light seemed to coalesce in the emerald eyes and thrust outward like a laser. It struck a gathering of deadwood a dozen feet away and ignited it instantly into a blazing fire.

Ben shielded his eyes, then watched as the fire diminished until it was manageable—the size of a campfire. The emerald eyes dimmed. The cat shimmered and returned to its former shape. It sat back slowly on its haunches and regarded Ben solemnly. “You will recall now, perhaps, what I told you I was?” it said.

“A prism cat,” Ben responded at once, remembering.

“Quite right. I can capture light from any source—even so distant a source as the land’s eight moons. I can then transform such light into energy. Basic physics, actually. At any rate, I have abilities somewhat more advanced than your own. You have seen but a small demonstration of those abilities.”

Ben nodded slowly, feeling a bit uneasy now. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The cat moved a bit closer to the fire and sat down again. The night sounds had died into stillness. There was a sudden tension in the air. “I have been places others only dream about and I have seen the things that are hidden there. I know many secrets.” The cat’s voice became a whisper. “Come closer to the fire, High Lord Ben Holiday. Feel the warmth.” Ben did as he was told, the cat watching. The emerald eyes seemed to flare anew. “I know of wizards and missing books of magic. I know of black unicorns and white, some lost, some found. I even know something of the deceptions that make some beings seem other than what they are.” Ben started to interrupt, but the cat hissed in warning. “No, High Lord—just listen! I am not disposed to converse so freely on most occasions, so it would behoove you to let me finish! Cats seldom have anything to say, but we always know much! So it is in this instance. I know much that is hidden from you. Some of what I know might be useful, some not. It is all a matter of sorting out. But sorting out takes time, and time requires commitment. I give commitment to things but rarely. You, however, as I said, intrigue me. I am thinking about making an exception. What do you think?”