Unicorn Seasons Page 5
“I don’t want a music name,” Miranda said, for she hadn’t heard quite right.
The unicorn tilted its head. “You can’t use magic without a proper name.”
“I don’t want any magic,” Miranda said, for this time she’d heard right. And though she still knew nothing about magic, she understood from the unicorn’s words that magic was somehow linked to music, and she knew that she didn’t want music.
The unicorn snorted, blowing out frosty air. “The magic is already yours. I can’t do anything about that.”
“Can’t you?” As Miranda spoke she feared it was a silly thing to say. Then she met the unicorn’s serious eyes, and she knew it wasn’t silly after all.
“You don’t know what you ask,” the unicorn said.
But Miranda knew exactly what she asked. She asked for friends—real friends, the kind who could understand her and who she could understand. She asked for a chance to walk easily and comfortably through the world, without fear of being snatched away by music or magic. She asked for silent dreams.
The unicorn stared at her for a while, and she felt embarrassed, alone beneath its silent gaze.
“I’ll hold it for you,” the unicorn said at last. “In case you ever want it back.”
“I won’t want it back,” Miranda whispered.
The unicorn looked down its long nose at her. “I’ll hold it just the same.” It met her eyes with its large silver eyes one last time. Miranda had the uncomfortable feeling that it was pulling something from her, through her eyes, pulling something out of her and making that something its own. She was about to flinch away when the unicorn lifted its head and looked to the darkening sky.
She followed that gaze, and as she stared at the faint stars the world was suddenly, wonderfully silent. She knew then that whatever the unicorn had done had worked. The music was gone.
The unicorn turned without speaking and walked toward the edge of the white field. She stared after it, wondering why it had seemed so beautiful just a moment before.
“Wait,” she called, and the creature looked hopefully back, ready to return what it had just taken.
“What kind of a name is Randi?” she asked.
“It is an earth name,” the unicorn said, but before she could ask whether an earth name was a good name or not it turned again and jumped, and as it lifted into the air it became the grey branch of a tree, blowing in the evening sky.
And Randi, kicking a drifting whorl of snow out of her path, walked across the schoolyard, a child like any other child, on the first day of Christmas vacation.
As soon as she walked through the door, her parents knew. Her father reached out to hug her, then pulled away, seeing nothing but his own reflection in his daughter’s eyes. Her mother just stared at her, out of deep dark eyes suddenly so unlike Randi’s shallow brown ones. Randi looked at them both, and she smiled. For the first time in a long time, their gazes didn’t frighten her.
She started toward her room, her steps quick and light. Behind her, she heard her mother crying. Randi stopped halfway up the stairs. She’d only given up what was hers to begin with, but she suddenly felt like she’d taken something from her parents, too.
She almost ran back out into the snow then, to find the unicorn and say that she wanted the music back, that she would be Miranda Windwood Rose. But instead she kept climbing the stairs. She lay down on her bed, looked up at the ceiling, and heard only her own silent thoughts. And she knew she didn’t really regret her decision after all.
The unicorn did as it promised; it held Randi’s magic for her. She never claimed it, though she thought about it sometimes, flinching at her mother’s tears or her father’s sad eyes. Their music was dull to her now, just one empty note following another, nothing more.
But then, slowly at first, she began talking with the other children at lunch, walking with them on the way home from school. Her quiet, tentative step gave way to an easy laugh, and she decided she didn’t have time to waste searching for unicorns.
All of this happened a long time ago. But somewhere, a unicorn still canters through the snow, waiting for Randi to take her magic back.
Maybe now you’re thinking that you’d like to walk in the snow, in hopes that some wild grey branch will catch your eye and a unicorn appear beneath the silver moon. Indeed, if you went out on a night like tonight, a night that follows both the first snow and the shortest day of the year, you might find a unicorn after all, and if it were the right unicorn, it might offer you the magic Randi never claimed.
Your eyes light up at this, but I hope you’d think well before you accept. For though some magic would be a nice thing to have, silent dreams are nice, too. I don’t know which is better. I do know that neither should be cast lightly aside.
For this time, I think, the unicorn would not take the magic back again.
About the Author
Janni Lee Simner has been looking for unicorns—and the way into Faerie, and a magical wardrobe, and aliens eager to offer a worthy adventurer a ride—for as long as she can remember. Since she couldn’t find her way into other worlds in any of those ways, she turned to telling stories instead.
She’s published eight novels, including the post-apocalyptic Bones of Faerie trilogy, the Icelandic-saga based Thief Eyes, and the kids’ adventure story Tiernay West, Professional Adventurer. She’s also written more than 30 short stories, including appearances in Welcome to Bordertown and Cricket magazine. Her story “Drawing the Moon” is currently being turned into a short independent film.
Visit her online at www.simner.com.
Also by Janni Lee Simner
Thief Eyes
The Bones of Faerie trilogy
Bones of Faerie
Faerie Winter
Faerie After
Tiernay West, Professional Adventurer
Copyright
“Lost or Forgotten” © 2007 by Janni Lee Simner
Originally appeared in Cabinet des Fées, volume 1, no. 2/3
“Unicorn Season” © 1994, 2014 by Janni Lee Simner
Originally appeared in Galaxy, volume 1, issue 6
Current version appears for the first time in this collection
“Tearing Down the Unicorns” © 1998 by Janni Lee Simner
Originally appeared in A Glory of Unicorns, edited by Bruce Coville
“Windwood Rose” © 1996 by Janni Lee Simner
Originally appeared in Bruce Coville’s Book of Magic
Cover images ©iStock.com/mashabuba and ©iStock.com/bulentgultek
Internal images ©iStock.com/RafalStachura