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| Image by falco from Pixabay |
“What are you doing here?” the faun’s eyes were wide with amazement.
“Are . . . were . . . I . . .” Justice’s brain scrambled to convince her that the faun was merely a man with hairy pants. Hairy pants, and horns, a costume, obviously. A very detailed costume, all the way down to his cloven shoes. She supposed that would work if he walked on his toes like a ballerina.
“Get out of here before the unicorns find you,” the faun jumped as something snapped in the underbrush. Holding a finger to his lips, he listened to the shushing of the wind and the scolding of a squirrel.
“They are real too?” Justice whispered, “Unicorns?”
“Yeah,” the faun frowned, then waved her down the path, “and I pity your soul if you are untouched. Nasty things.”
Justice followed him, “Can you take me to them?”
“Are you mad? Surely you aren’t equipped to fight one,” the faun eyed her backpack, “Unless you carry weapons forged of gold?”
“Are we talking about the same thing? You know, the white horse that lays its head in maidens laps and poops rainbows?” Justice tripped on a tree root. The faun caught her by the arm, his skin so course that it left a friction burn. “Ouch!”
The faun didn’t reply. He was looking back the way they had come, a crease forming between his eyes. Justice followed his gaze to a low mist that settled around the underbrush, reflecting light in all directions. It was so blinding that she almost missed the figure gliding through it, its pelt twitching as it lowered its nose. Its horn was the color of bone instead of being golden, and its coat was dappled with pale grey, but there was no mistaking the creature for anything else. It was a unicorn.
The faun squatted, pulling Justice down with him. “Stay still and in absolute silence,” he hissed in her ear.
As they hid, the unicorn wandered nearer, snuffling as it browsed. It puffed, then raised its head with a jerk. The fog rose by its command, twisting around Justice and the faun. It pressed on them, blanketing them with a feeling of submersion. Justice found herself unable to breathe, the pressure like a vise on her head. Unable to take it any longer, she screamed out the last of the air in her lungs.
She wasn’t sure what was more fantastic, the faun’s deftness at cursing or the up-close view of the unicorn. She could see the individual grey hairs around its nostrils and the grain of its horn. It sniffed the sole of her shoe, then whinnied.
“Take this, you magical bastard,” the faun drew a wooden flute out of his belt. Lifting it to his lips, the faun piped a tripping little tune that made Justice think of a picnic. There was a wicker basket in front of her, and inside it was cherries and almonds wrapped in checked cloth. She was still crouching, but under her feet was a cheerful gingham. A bird, so bright it appeared painted, landed next to her.
“What’d you do, Blake?” The voice drew her out of the illusion. “Don’t try to ignore me. You can’t just drag a human through our camp and expect no one to say anything. Faun like you give the rest of us bad names and I won’t stand -“
“Shut-up, Frost.”
Justice opened her eyes. The forest was the wrong-way up and swaying. She gripped the coarse arms that held her. No, it was she that was the wrong way up. “Put me down,” Justice dug her nails into the faun’s arms.
“Better let her down, Blake,” unlike the faun that held her, Frost had deep-set eyes and cream-colored fur.
Blake dropped her with a thud, “Should I have let the unicorn have her? Would that have made you happy?”
“You’ll bring ruin to us all, and shame upon the horns of your father, not that he’d claim you,” Frost stomped a hoof.
Justice sat on the ground in between them, her eyes glued to the scene behind them. Black and white houses grew out of the vertical cliff wall like fungus. Stairs ranged up and down the wall, twisting to run at unscalable angles including upside down. Much to her bemusement, a faun was traversing a winding stair, unbothered by gravity. “Escher,” Justice called to him as his hooves hit the ground.
“No, Dickens. Escher died long ago,” the faun untied a straw basket hanging from his belt.
“I meant - “ Justice paused as Blake and Frost charged at each other. They collided with a clatter of horns. “Good grief, they’re going to give themselves a head injury,” Justice stood.
“I guess we should stop them,” Dickens looked at his basket in dismay.
The two fauns grappled with each other, each trying to shove the other off his feet.
Justice flinched as one of the faun’s tails slapped across their legs, “How do we do that?”
“Well, legend indicates that a human would pick the victor, and after calling the chosen faun’s name, would take him as master.”
“Yeah . . . no,” Justice shook her head, “That’s weird and creepy, and you can’t tell me they only fight around humans.”
Dickens shouldered his basket, “Suit yourself.” He headed down a narrow path, the undergrowth springing back into place behind him.
Frost lost his footing and the two fauns tumbled hoof over horns. Blake picked up a stone and held it aloft.
“Blair! Blain! Blake! Whatever your name is, stop!” Justice sliced the air with her hands as if she could dash the rock from his hands.
The fauns stared at her, blood running from Blake’s nose, Frost’s left eye already beginning to swell. “And after all that, she picks you. Humans!” Frost sat up with a groan, “Don’t you remember? He dragged you here against your will. Could’ve dumped you at the edge of the wood. Could’ve left you where he found you and called 911. But, no. He bags you like a trophy, and you’re okay with that?”
“Do you . . . have phones?” Justice looked up the cliff face, imaging wiring made of twisted ferns snaking through the houses. “Cell phones,” she thought, “They must have cell phones.”
“That’s what you took out of my speech?” Frost stood, dusting off his fur, “Humans these days.” He marched towards the stairs.
“How,” Justice waved at the stairs’ roller-coaster twists and inversions, “How do you not fall off?”
“You just mind your hooves. We are part goat, you know and goats are not affected by physics,” Blake tossed the stone into the underbrush. A hare shot out, back legs a blur. “I know you have a lot of questions right now, but we should start by naming you.”
”Naming me? I already have a name.”
”Muffin? Frisky? Snowball?”
”Those all sound like pet names!”
Blake looked puzzled, ”Why else would I bring you here? I wanted to adopt a pet human.”
Justice scrambled to the edge of the clearing. There was no obvious path, so she dove into the lowest point in the bushes. The faun gave chase, coughing as he inhaled his own blood. She beat her way through the forest until exhaustion overtook her. Crouched inside a rhododendron, she listened to fauns’ calls.
”Here Snowy, here Snowy, Snowy, Snowball!”
”Here girl! We got you a nice fish!”
”Snowball! Snowball! Come, Snowball!”
Justice watched the last streaks of light leave the sky. The voices faded. She dozed, waking to the snap of a twig, or the twitter of a small animal. The dampness of the earth sank into her clothes, and she shivered.
The morning came after an eternity, and she stretched herself as she stood. This time when the voices called her, Snowball didn't run away.
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I'm not gonna lie, this is a weird story and I'm not 100% happy with it. I've been waiting with bated breath for the next 12 Short Stories prompt and . . . well, I don't know if it's user error or if there's just no January prompt. So, I came up with my own prompt which was: Beware of the Unicorns.
Blake, incidentally, is named after William Blake, the poet/artist who seems relatively sane until you read his prose. The weird dream sequence in this story is based on his poem Laughing Song, while the pipe the faun carries is from Introduction to the Songs of Innocence.