Wonder Light (10 page)

Twig tucked her chin into the collar of her shell as she took her first breath of the strange, damp haze. Indy neighed his protest, but he inched forward.

“Just to the hemlocks, boy. Not through the passage. I promise.”

Ben had told Twig a little about this friend they were going to see. Merrill had been his father's right-hand man before Ben stepped into the role, before the two of them were left to handle the guardianship of Lonehorn Island on their own. Twig didn't understand how that had happened, and Ben was very tight-lipped about it. It had something to do with the Queen of Westland. That was all she could figure out.

They left Indy at the edge of the cluster of hemlocks. The branches swished down behind her, and Twig blinked. Instead of black shadows, a yellow-orange light suffused the fog inside the hemlock circle. There was a crackle, and the light danced higher. A dark shadow rose out of the mist, a tall form that seemed to wobble much like the muted, dancing light.

“Merrill!” Ben called.

The shadow took form as it drew near. Merrill's smile was lopsided but genuine. He held a weathered hand up in greeting. A dark green woolen cap fitted his head with a snugness that suggested his hair was either very close-cropped or gone entirely. A thin, white scar cut through the gray-black stubble on his cheeks and chin, and he stepped forward with a lurch that drew Twig's attention to the odd fit of his pant leg. Though there was a boot on his left foot, Twig suspected the foot was artificial. Merrill's life as a herder had apparently not been gentle, yet there was gentleness in his gaze—a bright, steady gaze that made it easy for Twig to imagine he'd once carried himself with a similarly steady stride.

Ben threw his arms around Merrill with uncharacteristic abandon.

Merrill squeezed him, then ran a big hand over Ben's head. “It's been too long, boy.”

“I know it.”

Merrill released Ben and took a step back. He looked him over, then gave him a nod of approval and turned to Twig. Twig swallowed and willed herself not to look down at her boots.

“And this is your friend Twig?” the old herder's accent was much stronger than Ben's. It made each word seem powerful and strange to Twig.

“Yes, sir.” Twig didn't know where the
sir
came from; it just seemed the proper way to address a man like Merrill.

Merrill shook her hand. “Well, come over to the fire, little one, where it's warm.”

Twig followed him toward the flickering light. A campfire! What a relief to enter the circle of light and smoke that defied the otherworldly mist.

A rough woolen blanket was spread on the earth before the fire. Merrill carefully lowered himself, sticking his artificial leg straight out and bending the other one in. Twig sat next to Ben, across from Merrill.

“I got word that you needed my help, Ben-boy. You made no mention of your father, and now here you are without him. Where is he? Has something happened?”

Ben pulled his knees up to his chest. “Gone.”

“Gone?” Merrill took off his hat. His hand was shaking. “Darian, gone?”

When Merrill let his own tears fall, Twig felt like crying too. In her head, she said
Darian
over and over. It was the first she'd heard Ben's father's name. It sounded so noble and strong, especially the way Merrill said it.

“It was Dagger. He attacked, and Father was wounded fighting him off. He died the next day.”

Merrill sniffed loudly. “And Dagger is still out there, still a threat. Your message was clear enough about that.”

“That's right.”

“What now then, boy? What are you trying to do?”

“What my father would have me do.”

“Are you now, Ben? You think he'd want you going after Dagger?”

“There are people on the island, Merrill. Good people. Girls like her.”

“Littler ones too,” Twig added.

“We need the herders' help, not just to keep Dagger from poisoning the herd forever, but also to protect those girls.”

“The herders have been disbanded. You know that.”

“You can get them together again. They'll listen to you.”

“Not against the queen's wishes, they won't. Not anymore.”

“We only need a few. Just—”

Merrill slapped his hat against his artificial leg. “Not anymore, I said! Listen to me. You let this alone.”

“They're the last free herd! How can I leave them to what they're becoming? Killers of each other, of innocent horses, of people! How can I stand by and let them attack Island Ranch again?”

“The queen has already banished a good number of us to the Barrenlands. The ones who wouldn't listen. The next one will be tried for treason.”

“Treason? For doing your job? The work our ancestors went to Terracornus to do?”

“It's not our job anymore. Not yours either, Ben of the Island. I'm sorry. I've got no desire to spend the rest of my years fighting the bitter cold and a bunch of bitterer herders for a spot by a meager coal fire, let alone to hang from a noose in the castle square.”

“That's it, then, Merrill?”

“Take this girl back to her people, Ben-boy, and come stay with me. Any son of Darian is welcome in my home.”

“Any son?” Ben said sharply.

Merrill gave him a hard look. “Any son. But you've known me long enough to know you'd be welcome either way, boy.”

“I thank you, Merrill. And I'm sure my father would too. But we both know he'd thank you more if you helped me do what I need to do.”

“It seems we disagree,” said Merrill, sliding his hands into his pockets, “about just what it is you need to do.”

“It seems so. Thanks anyway.” Ben tightened his cloak and rose, stepping back into the swirling mist. “Come on, Twig.”

Numbly, Twig followed Ben. With Twig riding behind him, Ben sent Indy cutting through the web of mist and trees at a near gallop.

Outside the shrouded circle, the morning glared shockingly bright. What time was it? What was she going to say to the Murleys? She'd be in trouble for sure, and Merrill had been no help. It was all for nothing.

“What now?” she asked.

“Nothing now!”

Twig held on stiffly to Ben's back, trying to resist the alternating urges to shove him off or to hug him tight and cry in shared frustration.

Twig let go of Ben, reached around, and grabbed at the reins. “Stop!”

“What are you doing?”

Twig jumped down, hands on her hips. Ben glared at her.

“You can't just give up. You can't hold them off forever. If they attack, how many can you shoot before the rest of them are all over you?”

“I'm not giving up! But I'm one rider and Indy is one tame unicorn. That's all I have.”

“You'll have two tame unicorns once Wild Light is grown.”

Indy pawed impatiently at the ground.

“And what about a rider?” Ben said quietly. His eyes searched Twig's.

Twig felt her mouth fall partway open. “I'm no rider,” she said hoarsely. She'd never ridden Wild Light. No saddle had ever touched her perfect white back. She was too young for that. But the thought of attempting that when she was bigger, wilder…she grew more unruly every day.

“No,” Ben said. “You're not. Not until you claim her.”

“I can't ride a unicorn! I'm a scrawny girl who's only been riding a tame pony for a few months. And you expect me to get Wild Light to let me ride her? And what if she did? Then what? I'd teach her how to fight off a whole herd of unicorns who are trying to kill her?”

Twig laughed a high, humorless laugh, and a part of her felt terrible at the sound of it, but the anger at Ben's expectations was just as strong.

Ben's brown eyes gleamed with intensity. “A rider doesn't teach her unicorn
how
to fight; she shows her
when
to fight. And if her heart is right, she gives her unicorn the right reason to do it. As for Indy and Wild Light, the bows and swords of riders can help protect them against the greater numbers of the herd. And if I can hold them off until you and Wild Light have some training…”

“Ben—”

“I'll help you.”

He looked so sure. How could he be so certain? “If I say yes—
if
I say yes—what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“I want to turn them back. It will probably take killing Dagger to do that, but I'm trying to save them just as much as I'm trying to protect the people on this island. They are the last free herd after all.”

Twig blinked at him. It was crazy to think of her, Twig Tupper, riding her very own unicorn and helping steer a herd of the wildest and rarest creatures back the way they belonged. There had to be something else, some other way. Ben's plan was not going to work. Wild Light wouldn't even be mature enough to ride for months. They'd never make it that long alone.

Twig tipped her chin back up. “Take me back to Merrill.”

Twig tumbled off Indy's back in her haste, and Merrill's strong hands grasped her under the armpits, pulled her away from Indy's hooves, and set her on her feet.

“Whoa, there. What's going on here? You trying to get yourself killed, little one?”

“No, Ben's the one who's going to get himself killed if you won't help! Can't you see that? Because he won't—he—” A sob escaped. “He won't give up on us. Ben won't give up on what his father wanted, on those unicorns, on us girls who everybody else gave up on. That's why he understands that the girls won't give up on the ranch and the Murleys won't give up on them.” She turned to Ben. “And neither will I. Even if your idea of me riding Wild Light is stupid and crazy.”

Ben steadied Indy and dismounted. He didn't say anything, but he reached for Twig and pulled her into a sideways hug.

“You, little one, riding Wild Light?” Merrill said. “Wind Catcher's filly?”

Twig felt the heat of embarrassment under hotter tears. Stupid, stupid Twig. What was she thinking?

But Merrill said, “Could be this boy's not so stupid as you think, Twig-girl. Could be this old man was the stupid one. You helped me understand a thing or two myself, I think. If you're willing to learn, then I'm willing to risk my hide to keep you and that ranch safe long enough to do it.”

“You are?” Ben said.

“The filly trusts her?”

“More than anyone. She even lets Twig halter her and lead her.”

“Sounds like you've got a unicorn,” Merrill said to Twig. “That filly may not know it, but she's chosen you to be her rider. Doubt she'd let anyone else take that role now.”

“What do you mean,” Twig said between sniffs, “‘chosen'?”

“When unicorns were hunted, they learned to fear men, and they passed that fear and hostility on, generation after generation. When men first tried to manage unicorns, it was clear we'd need to learn to ride a few of them, and those few would need to trust us. What can you herd a unicorn with but another unicorn? What other creature could keep up and defend itself? It seemed an impossible task, but those first herders discovered something about unicorns. Sometimes they'll choose a human to trust. One who respects their intelligence, their independence, and who gives them a sense of purpose. They'll work with that person, let her ride. And when a unicorn bonds with a rider, it's like healing an ancient wound.”

“She'll need a sword and a bow,” Ben said. “She can practice on her own until Wild Light is big enough to ride.”

“A sword and a bow?” Twig said.

“That can be arranged,” Merrill said. “We'll teach you to fight, to ride, and eventually to herd.”

“A maiden,” Ben said with a smirk, “to tame the wild unicorns.”

***

A pale sun was rising when Ben left Indy in the hollow and slipped through the trees with Twig. Twig could hear the truck's engine as they made their way through the underbrush just outside Island Ranch. Frantic voices called her name.

“Oh no.” She hesitated at the edge of the fence. “That's not good.” She'd managed to come back in one piece, but too late.

“Hey.” Ben caught her sleeve. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Take Indy and find somewhere good to hide. There might be people all over the island looking for me.”

Why hadn't she thought of that before? The Murleys weren't Mom. Of course they'd notice she was gone. When they couldn't find her, they'd do the responsible thing—call for help, have the authorities search the island. And then what would they find? What if they'd already found the herd?

Twig ran for the house. The sooner she got back, the sooner they'd stop searching the island. The truck was crunching along the gravel driveway when Twig came sprinting across the pasture.

Mandy met her at the pasture gate. “You're in
big
trouble.”

Twig didn't stop running until she got closer to the house, and Mr. Murley slammed the truck door shut behind him and came running up to her. Mrs. Murley came out and stood on the front porch and just stared at her.

“Twig,” Mr. Murley said, “where have you been?” His face was creased with worry, and Mrs. Murley's eyes were wet with tears.

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.” She wanted to say that it wouldn't happen again; she hated that the truth was just the opposite. She'd agreed to meet with Ben and Merrill again in the hemlock circle.

“Twig,” Mrs. Murley said in a cracked, quiet voice, “we had to call your stepmother—before we called the police.”

“You called the police?”

“Not yet, thank God. I just called her to tell her I was contacting the Sheriff's Department.” Mrs. Murley hugged her arms around herself, and Twig wished she would hug her instead.

The other girls trickled toward the porch from all corners of the property. They murmured and shushed each other. Twig looked at her boots and wished she'd never come back.

Mr. Murley put his arm around her. He gave her a slow, firm hug, but then he pulled back. “Do you have any idea the things a parent imagines when a child just vanishes on an island?”

Twig was about to remind him that Keely wasn't her parent, when she realized that Mr. Murley was talking just as much about himself and Mrs. Murley. Had they thought she'd fallen and hit her head on the rocks? Wandered into the woods and got her leg caught on a tree root and broken it? Clambered out in the tide pools and gotten smashed by a rogue wave and swept out to sea, never to be seen again?

Mr. Murley's cell phone rang. “It's your stepmother.” He turned it on. “Hello, Mrs. Tupper. We have good news. Yes, she's turned up. Well, we're just sitting down to talk about it. She just—yes, of course. Sure. I'll be there…just a minute.”

Mr. Murley covered the speaker with his hand. “She wants to talk to you, Twig.”

“Is she coming here?”

“Well, yes. She's on her way. She was ready to help with a search and rescue operation.”

“But I'm back, and I'm fine. She can go back home now.”

“Twig, I don't think you realize how serious this is. You were
missing
. She wants to see you and she wants to…check on things.”

Twig's jaw tensed. She reached out her hand and Mr. Murley put the phone in it. “Keely?”

“Twig!”

“I don't want you coming here and I don't have anything else to say!”

Twig pressed the red button, tossed the phone back to Mr. Murley, and spun around. She waited for Mr. Murley to grab her arm and yank her back, for Mrs. Murley to say something, but no one moved, except to fumble for the phone.

She went to the stable to see Wild Light and to see if Rain Cloud needed anything too. She cleaned some stray bedding out of Rain Cloud's water bucket and refilled it with fresh water. When she apologized for missing breakfast, Rain Cloud gave her a disapproving glare that made Twig want to cry.

She left Rain Cloud and went to Wild Light and whispered the whole story into her ears. Wild Light nuzzled against Twig and told her that she understood.

Janessa came to the stable to get Twig at lunchtime, but Twig said she wasn't hungry. She took her sketchbook and her ebony pencil out of her backpack and sketched Wild Light instead. She drew her beside Indy. Then she drew Ben riding Indy and herself riding Wild Light. Ben had his sword drawn. Twig shaded in a sword for herself too. She flipped over the page. She wanted to draw Dagger, but nothing she envisioned seemed quite right. The unicorns she drew were fierce but beautiful, light, graceful. She couldn't picture a unicorn who matched the malicious sounds in the woods, the horrific story of Darian's death, or what she imagined had happened to Merrill's leg.

Casey's distinctive steps entered the stable, and Story's stall door creaked open. Twig put away her drawing materials and said good-bye to Wild Light.

She went to Story's stall. Casey sniffed, stroking her pony's nose. “I can't ride today. I don't know when they'll let me ride again.”

“Why?” Twig said meekly.

“'Cause I told them you were in the bathroom. That you were sick. Not to bother you because you were embarrassed.”

“What!”

“I told them you had the poops. It worked too, until breakfast!”

“I didn't expect you to
lie
like that.”

“Well, what did you expect me to do, then?”

“I don't know.” Twig picked a strand of stray hair out of Casey's puffy eyes.

“I told them I knew you were okay, but they wouldn't believe me 'cause I couldn't tell them why.”

“I'm sorry.” Twig slipped her arm around Casey's shoulders. “But—the poops?” Under her arm, Casey's shoulders shook with a little laugh. Twig laughed too. “I wish I could tell you all about it, but I made a promise not to, you know?”

“A promise to the wild boy?”

Twig didn't answer. Maybe she'd ask Ben if she could tell Casey, but not now. Not before they had things figured out. Casey didn't need to know how bad it was.

Another familiar pair of boot steps approached. Twig inched out of the stall and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and stared up at Mrs. Murley. Mrs. Murley looked even more troubled than she had before.

“Twig,” she said, “your stepmother is here.”